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 thought it? 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 Assembly 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."
"But could you do it?"
Could he? Mac didn't know if it was a good idea for Del's career, and he disliked the idea of being responsible for someone so important to interstellar politics. But he had to admit it made sense. Although concentrating on Del's career would mean giving up some of his other clients, he would receive a percentage of Del's income, which could be substantial if Del succeeded.
"I might be able to," Mac said. "Assuming I could find good front-liners for my other clients. But Del would have to agree, with full knowledge that I'm reporting back to you."
"Do you think he will?"
"I don't know." Mac exhaled. "It's his safety I'm worried about. He'll be leaving the base a lot more. He should have more security than me and my monitors."
Fitz nodded. "We'll get him a full-time bodyguard. One of the teched-up Marines. With all the bioware those boys carry in their bodies, it'll be as if he has a phalanx of guards."
"You can't have a Marine hulking around him!" Mac wondered if Fitz had any clue of the life Del would be living, especially on the road. "It would be like putting a sign over Del's head saying, 'Hey, look, I'm important.' "
The general spoke wryly. "I'm not that out of it, Mac. We'll get someone who fits in. He can be part of—what do you call it? Del's staff."
"His team. He doesn't have one yet."
"Good. You can set it up," Fitz said. "We'll also need to implant a tracker in his body."
"He already has one."
Fitz snorted. "For all the good it does us. He isn't about to give us the key to one his own people put in him."
Mac could imagine Del's explosion at the idea of yet another invasion of his privacy. "He'll never agree to a second one."
"See if you can convince him. And we need Del to let his family know he's staying on Earth of his own free will."
Mac almost groaned. It would be easier to convince Del to roll naked in a hill of fire ants than to talk to his family. "I'll try. But I can't make any promises on that."
Fitz's gaze never wavered. "We'll be depending on you."
Mac had felt before as if the roof were sagging; now it was caving in. Not only did he have to worry about Del loose in the holo-vid industry, but Fitz wanted him personally responsible for the prince. Damn it, I'm a civilian. He could walk out on this. But if he did, he would antagonize people he had no wish to alienate, starting with a top-ranked general. Besides, he already felt responsible for Del.
Mac took a breath. "All right. I'll do my best."
He just hoped it didn't all come crashing down on him.
Del's living room balcony overlooked the glistening expanse of a river. In the distance, across the water, the Naval Academy basked in rays of the setting sun. The interplay of the aged light and rippled water fascinated Del.
"Brighter than the crystal caves," Del sang softly. "Sunlight glancing on the waves." He used English because he finally had a good reason to learn it. Someone wanted to sell his songs.
He kept expecting the woman Ricki to contact him and say they had made a mistake, that they weren't interested after all. Or that other one would tell him, the man. A vice president for technology, mechanicals, and media? What the blazes did that mean? Mac said "mechanicals" was a historical term from long ago, when mechanical devices played music. But then, Mac also claimed the deal with Prime-Nova was binding even though he hadn't finished negotiating it. To Del, it all felt as ephemeral as mist under a morning sun.
A chime sounded inside the living room, through the open doorway. With a sigh, Del turned from the gorgeous sunset and went back into his quarters.
"Lumos up," he said as he crossed to the console against the far wall. The lights brightened.
The console should have showed who contacted him, but no image floated above the comm screen. That was odd. No one knew how to reach him here except military officers, certain highly placed members of Earth's government, and Mac. Whenever his family contacted him, they had to go through lengthy protocols complicated by the fact that they all knew Earth's military was monitoring every word.
Del rolled his shoulders, working out muscle kinks. "Claude?"
"Good evening," Claude answered. He was an EI, or evolving intelligence, that the military had installed on Del's console. Del had named the EI after Claude Debussy, his favorite among the Earth composers he had so far discovered. He never felt inspired to name AIs, or artificial intelligences, which only simulated emotions, but EIs were more aware. Although he couldn't pick up their moods, they genuinely seemed to experience them. So he named the EIs.
"Who commed me?" he asked.
"I don't know," Claude said. "The comm originates in Washington, D.C., but its ID is hidden."
"Strange." Del squinted at the console. Its comm light was still glowing, which meant the mystery person hadn't cut the line. So he said, "Respond."
After a pause, Del said, "Hello?"
"Del!" A sultry female voice floated into the air. "Heya, babe."
Heya, babe? What did that mean? She sounded like the woman who had offered him the contract. With a sinking sensation, he realized he had celebrated too soon. They were going to withdraw the offer.
"Hello, Miss Varento," Del said.
Her throaty laugh wrapped around him. Any other time, that sensual response would have attracted him. Today, he could only think how much he didn't want to hear whatever she had to say next.
"Call me Ricki," she said. "After all, we're going to be working together."
Working together. Working together. Del let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Del?" she asked.
"Do you mind if I put you on visual?" he asked.
"I'd love that, babe."
A smile spread on his face. Babe, indeed. Her husky voice reminded him of the voluptuous body under that flimsy dress she had been wearing today. What inspired her to refer to him as an infant, he had no clue, but what the hell. She could talk to him that way all day if she wanted. Especially if she wore that dress.
He touched a panel, and a screen rose before him. It shimmered blue and cleared to show a starlit room with windows for walls. Beyond them, the nighttime wonderland of a city glistened in gem lights, with the mag-rail adding luminous curves to the skyline. Del found it hard to believe that long ago, buildings in Washington, D.C. had never been more than a few stories high. Now those graceful towers soared. After spending his life in a rural community, the view took his breath.
Ricki was sitting at a tall table just big enough for two people, wearing a slinky black dress that did even better things for Del's imagination than her outfit this afternoon. Her yellow hair fell to her shoulders and framed her sweet face.
More pleasant thoughts replaced Del's earlier concerns. "So what are you doing, Ricki, all by yourself?"
"I'm in a private room on top of the Star Tower Sheraton." Her voice purred. "I was thinking this would be just the place to celebrate your new relationship with Prime-Nova." A pout touched her face. "But you're there and I'm here."
"Celebrations," Del murmured, "are better with two people."
She sipped her drink, her lips molding to the glass. Then she licked away the moisture. "If you come soon enough, I'll be here."
Del wondered if she offered to celebrate this way with all her new acts. He couldn't sense her mood from here; his empathic ability depended on her brain waves, which could only affect him close up. He might be fooling himself, but he didn't think such "celebrations" were her usual mode. Then again, maybe he should hope she was that casual about her relationships. Then she wouldn't expect more of a commitment than he could give. Ricki was the kind of woman you enjoyed for the night, like a fine wine. Del smiled. No, not wine. Whiskey.
His voice deepened, thickening his accent. "Maybe I come celebrate with you."
"Talk like that," Ricki murmured, "and I may stay here all night." She took another swallow of her drink. "Ciao, baby." With that, she cut the connection.
He laughed, shaking his head. "Chow baby?"
An idea came to him and he smiled. He would wear those pants that had flustered his female interrogator so much, she forgot her questions. He hadn't figured out why they affected her that way, but he had sensed her response the moment he entered the room.
It would be interesting to see what happened when he tried to leave the base tonight.
The maglev stop in the Annapolis complex was underground. No trains actually went there; the real station was outside the base. A whiz-car took people to the edge of the base, where they could leave the grounds and board the maglev.
Del rode in a single-seater with the bubble open so he could relax while the wind tossed his hair. He had on his leather jacket. The Allied military had grudgingly bought it for him when he pointed out they cut him off from his personal funds by denying him access to the interstellar meshes. He needed a jacket. So rather than letting him use the offworld meshes, they paid for the jacket. It was ridiculous. He could buy a million jackets with his personal funds. If he did manage to see Ricki tonight, he could ask her for access to an offworld mesh. It irked him just as much, though, that he had those funds only because he was a member of the Ruby Dynasty. So if Earth's military didn't buy his jackets, the Ruby Dynasty did. Either way it bothered him. If this holo-vid business worked out, he might earn his own money. Then he'd buy his jackets with his own income.
After the car stopped at the edge of the base, Del swung out and strolled to the automated guard booth. The voice of an AI came out of a panel on its front. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but you aren't cleared to leave the base."
"I have to go," Del said. "I have an appointment."
Silence followed his words. Then the AI said, "One moment."
Del grinned. He'd actually flummoxed it this time.
A new voice came out of the comm. "Your Highness, this is General Fitz McLane. I understand you wish to leave the base?"
Hah. The AI had called in the big gun. "That's right," Del said. "I have meeting with my producer."
"At night?" The general didn't hide his skepticism.
"She's at the Star Tower Sheraton."
"She?"
Del regarded the comm smugly, well aware the general could see him even if he couldn't see Fitz. "Yeah. She."
"It isn't safe for you to travel alone."
"I'm a grown man, General. I take care of myself."
"You're also a Ruby Heir," Fitz said. "Anything that happens to you could significantly impact relations between our peoples."
Del crossed his arms. "But holding me prisoner won't impact those relations?"
The ensuing silence surprised him. The last time he had used that line, the general had given him some drill about "establishing a baseline database we can use to determine the optimum approach in our interface with the Skolian institutions most affected by your presence on Earth." Which as far as Del could tell, was Fitz-speak for "tell us Skolian secrets." Fitz's silence made Del wonder if the Skolian government had stepped up their pressure to let him go.
"I'll send you a flycar," Fitz said. "With a pilot and a bodyguard. They will take you to your appointment and bring you back."
Del tried to look innocent, just to annoy Fitz. "What if I don't come back tonight?"
The general answered sourly. "As long as you don't mind having your guards in the room."
"But I do mind."
"That's unfortunate, then."
For flaming sake. He couldn't enjoy his evening if he had Marines hulking over him. "I suppose I can contact Ricki. Tell her that General Fitz McLane insists I bring his thugs with me. Ah. My apology. I have problem with English. I mean bodyguard."
"Can it, Valdoria." Fitz sounded as irritated as Del felt with him. It just annoyed Del more. Fitz could have activated the visual. Leaving Del staring at nothing was another way of Fitz asserting his authority.
After a while, Del said, "General?"
"I'm sending Mac Tyler to meet you," Fitz said. "With the flycar and guards."
Del blinked. "All right." Mac he could deal with.
* * *
"That isn't the point!" Mac looked as if he wanted to shake Del. They were sitting in the back seat of the flycar. The night sped by outside the window behind Mac, sparkling with gold and white lights as they soared over the city.
"I don't care about the damn guards," Mac said. "They can't protect you from the real danger. She's a barracuda, Del. She'll devour you."
Del smiled. "I have no idea what is barracuda."
"It's a vicious fish with big jaws that eats little fish."
Del was relaxed on the other end of the seat. It was a nice car, upholstered in ruddy colors with comfortable cushions. The pilot and a Marine were up front, pretending they couldn't hear every word Mac and Del said.
"Ricki," Del told him, "is definitely not a fish."
"Quit smirking like a tomcat licking his chops," Mac told him. "And don't say you don't know what that means. You figured it out the first time you saw one of those cats prowling around the base. You've been on a farm your whole life, Del, surrounded by sweet country girls. You have no idea what you're letting yourself in for if you meet Ricki tonight."
Del couldn't help but laugh. "If anyone but you say that to me, I probably sock him in the face. What, you think I am some innocent she can shred? I have a flash for you. Us farm folk are not so naïve as you think." In a less amused voice, he added, "And I was never sweet."
Mac let out a breath. "If I gave insult, I apologize. But I would tell anyone this. Stay away from her."
"Why?" Del asked, genuinely curious. "What you think she will do to me?"
"She'll use you like a new toy," Mac said. "When she gets tired of you, she'll drop you faster than a child drops a glass vase. She won't care what breaks."
Del shrugged. "I'm going to meet a beautiful, intriguing woman for a night. Nothing more. I don't want anything more." After a moment, he said, "I am not capable of more."
Mac answered quietly. "You're capable of a great deal."
Del didn't want to talk about it. "Maybe she really just want to talk business."
"Yeah, right."
"You never know."
"Del, listen. She moves in a crowd you want to stay away from. They're beautiful, fast-living, wealthy—and toxic. The drugs alone will scorch your brain, and that doesn't touch the other bizarre stuff they're into."
Del's good mood faded. "The drugs don't matter. Not the alcohol, either. Neither affects me."
Mac didn't look the least convinced. "I don't care how high your tolerance is. Anyone can get drilled."
Del really didn't want to go into this. But he owed it to Mac, who had changed his life today and agreed to negotiate for him despite how much he wanted Del to refuse that contract. Del knew. Mac's apprehension had been so strong, it had come through even when Del had his empathic shields at full force.
Del switched into the Skolian Flag so he wouldn't struggle as much just to speak. "I don't have a high tolerance. I can't get drunk, and certain drugs don't affect me, particularly Metropoli-line hallucinogens and neuro-psillic amphetamines. I carry nanomed series in my body that deactivate drugs and alcohol."
Mac stared at him. "Is that why you didn't want our doctors examining you more?"
Del shifted his weight. "Yes, partly."
"Aren't those treatments dangerous? They might deactivate a chemical your body needs." Mac hesitated. "I thought it was only done for drug addicts."
"I wasn't an addict," Del said. At least, not yet, though gods only knew where he might have ended up. "It's more dangerous for me not to have the nanos." He stared at his hands where they rested in his lap. "All these medical wonders we put in our bodies—they backfire sometimes."
Mac's voice went quiet. "What happened?"
It was a moment before Del could answer. "When I was younger, I experimented with tau-kickers." He looked back at Mac. "I thought they would make me a better artist. Expand my mind." In a brittle voice, he added, "I was stupid."
"Tau-kickers? What are those?"
Del wished he were anywhere but here, telling Mac his past. "Hallucinogens manufactured in mesh-slums on the world Metropoli." He almost stopped, but then he said, "Do you remember the glitter in the air on Lyshriol?"
Mac paused at the change of topic. "The pollen?"
"That's right. It's everywhere, the ground, air, water. You can't always see it, but it saturates the biosphere. That's why the clouds look blue. It's sort of like food dye."
"Ah. Yes, I remember." Mac smiled wryly. "My people had to get treatments so we didn't get sick from drinking the water."
Del had guessed as much. "Those of us who live there are born with protections. We have self-replicating molecules in our bodies to deal with it, like tiny chemical laboratories. A mother passes them to her child in the womb." Bitterly, he said, "I also carry nanomeds in my body that keep me healthy. Hell, I could live two centuries."
Mac was watching him closely. "I'm not sure what you're trying to tell me."
Del took a breath. "All these molecular wonders we put in our bodies—they're designed to work together. So they don't interact in a bad way and harm us."
Mac waited. Then he said, "But?"
Del stared at the back of the driver's head. "Sometimes even the best medicine doesn't work." He shrugged as if he didn't care, but he doubted he fooled Mac. "When I took the kickers, they kicked all right. They had some bizarre reaction with the nanomeds in my body. Once it started, it cascaded. My lungs, blood vessels, lymph, neural, hell, my breathing—it all went wild. Then everything shut down."
"Good Lord." Mac stared at him. "How did you survive?"
Del met his gaze. "I didn't."
Mac blinked. "You look alive to me."
Del turned to stare out the window next to him. "The doctors revived me. Eventually."
Silence.
Finally Mac said, "And they gave you new meds to counter any drugs the doctors thought could kill you?"
"That's right." Del watched the city glitter below. "Alcohol makes me more susceptible, so they took care of that, too." The doctors couldn't remove his nanomeds; their interactions with his body had become so complicated, it was impossible to take them out completely. And without them, ironically, he would no longer have protection against side-effects from the treatments that countered his susceptibility to drugs.
"You seem so healthy," Mac said. "So unaffected."
"I am healthy." Del couldn't say he was unaffected. It had been a horrific time in his life. Although his family was the royal dynasty of Skolia, the government had controlled their lives until just recently. Del had learned the hard way how those with power could exploit the vulnerabilities of people they sought to command.
Mac spoke gently. "There's more, isn't there?"
Del shook his head. He couldn't talk anymore. He was also aware of the general's men in the flycar. He doubted Allied Space Command cared about his personal hells; they wanted secrets that would impact their balance of power with Skolia. And he did know a few "little things," such as, oh, how far his brother the Imperator would go in negotiating the presence of Earth's military forces in Skolian space. Del would never tell the Allieds. So instead they knew he had been treated for drug use. That would fit right in with General Fitz McLane's low opinion of him. Del wished he had kept his mouth shut. He closed the memories away, trying to hide them where they couldn't hurt him.
"Just be careful," Mac said. When Del glanced at him, Mac smiled ruefully. "It's hard for me to imagine a Ruby prince in the holo-rock industry."
Del laughed without humor. "I'm sure for my family, it's hard to imagine anyone paying me to do this."
"Really?" Mac seemed genuinely surprised. "They know how you sing."
"They think I'm just making noise. They've never heard of rock, and I doubt they'd care if they knew about it." Del shook his head. "I'm not like them. I'm no prodigy or great fighter pilot. I'll never have a degree in anything. I can't teach or do scholarship or be a delegate in Assembly." Such simple words, and they hurt so much. "All I ever wanted was my music. And maybe even to have people want to hear it." Softly he said, "You gave me that today. Let me enjoy it while it lasts."
Mac's gaze never wavered. "You don't have to be a genius or world leader to consider your life worthwhile."
"Try living in my family," Del said with a bitterness he didn't want to feel. "Try being the only failure out of all those extraordinary people. Then tell me that."
"Del—"
He lifted his hand to stop Mac. He couldn't take any more. With a jerk, he indicated a gold tower below them. "Why are we circling that?"
Mercifully, Mac let go of his other questions. "That's the Star Tower. We're in a holding pattern to land on the roof flyport."
"Oh." Del set his hand down.
In moments, the flycar was descending. As it landed on the roof, Mac said, "I had quite a talk with General McLane tonight."
Del winced. "I'm afraid to ask about what."
Mac didn't tiptoe around the subject. "We'd like you to keep your identity a secret. The fewer people who know, the easier it will be to protect you."
The request didn't surprise Del. Nor did he object, even if it did come from the authoritarian McLane. He had no desire to have his name associated with his famous kin. If he had some small measure of success, he wanted it to come from his singing, not because he was a member of the Ruby Dynasty.
"I hadn't planned on telling anyone," Del said.
Someone swung open his door, and he looked up to see his bodyguard standing outside. The man had no uniform, just casual slacks and a holo-mesh shirt, but he had military emblazoned all over him, from his buzzed hair to his rigid posture.
Del glared at Mac. "He's not coming with me."
"You can't go alone," Mac said. When Del scowled, he added, "No, he won't be on your date with Ricki. He'll escort you into the Sheraton. After they take you to Ricki, he'll join the guards in the key-room for the penthouse Prime-Nova keeps here." Dryly he added, "Prime-Nova has better security than we do at the base."
"What for?" Del asked, intrigued.
"Entertainment is a huge business," Mac said. "And Prime-Nova is one of the largest conglomerates. A lot of people want to be where you are right now."
Del wasn't sure what to think about that, but it reminded him of the idealized fantasy so many people had of Ruby Heirs. They had no idea. Those fantasies had nothing to do with reality.
He stepped out of the flycar and stood next to the Marine. Looking up at the large fellow, he said, "Hello." He would have expected Fitz to choose someone less obvious, but then, he knew so little about life here, he had no idea what was obvious.
"Good evening, Your Highness," the man rumbled.
"You better not call me 'Highness' once we're inside," Del said.
"I won't," the Marine assured him.
Del hesitated, not wanting to feel intimidated by his own guard. "What's your name?"
"Sergeant Cameron."
Del nodded awkwardly to the giant. Then he turned to Mac, who was still in the car. "Thanks for talking to me."
Mac scooted over to Del's side. "Just remember what I said."
Del grinned. "Aren't you worried about Ricki, stuck with a reprobate like me?"
Mac smiled. "Call me tomorrow, all right? We need to talk about your contract."
"Sure." Del lifted his hand in farewell.
Then he headed into the Star Tower.