Mac sank into his chair, relieved to relax in the quiet hotel room. These strange hours tired him out. Although he was fifty-nine, age-delaying treatments made him look younger, which was practically a requirement in this youth-oriented industry. But he felt his age.
At least Del's concert had gone better tonight. The reviews were brief but reasonably good. He still wasn't doing as well as Prime-Nova had hoped, given the opportunity they had handed him, opening for Mind Mix. But they wouldn't yank him from the tour after Del had grabbed one of the hottest markets with the younger female demographic. It wasn't really a surprise; Ricki and Zachary must have realized the potential the moment they saw Del sing. Still, they wouldn't have looked for it this soon, before he had a vid ready.
Except.
Del's convulsion scared the hell out of Mac. He had tried to take the obstinate prince to the hospital, but Del steadfastly refused. Even so, Mac intended to take no chances. He had contacted Philip Chandler, the doctor who certified Del's age. Chandler wasn't a yes-man. He had verified Del was over twenty-five, but only after extensive tests. He would be straight with them if Del had medical problems after he saw Del tomorrow, in D.C.
If they made it to D.C. Although Mind Mix flew to each concert, Mac hadn't convinced Prime-Nova to provide air travel for Del. He could probably arrange a flyer now, though, so they could work on the vid between concerts. It would be grueling to commute between Washington and the cities where Del was performing, but the tour would be over in a month. They could manage that long.
Despite what he had told Del, Mac doubted it would take much to do the vid once they worked out the holos and extras. Del had more than enough material, and the band knew his music. Ricki would object to Jud Taborian because he was undercity, but she'd come around. She would have to be blind not to see how well Jud worked with Del.
So Mac sat in his darkened hotel room and brooded. He felt like a hypocrite. He was Del's manager. He was supposed to wish Del success. But every time Del went on stage; every time someone wrote about him, good or bad; every time Del made eye contact with the audience, Mac cringed. Sure, no one had any reason to attack a minor rock singer. But the human psyche had never been logical. Who knew if some nut would take a dislike to Del and decide to kill him? Most singers had a flare of success for a few years, if they were lucky, and then dropped into obscurity. The same would probably happen to Del. But Mac sweated anyway. One slipup and Del could be dead. Del chose to accept the risk, but Mac couldn't help wanting him off the tour.
The room's AI said, "Del Arden is at the door."
Mac looked up with a start. "Open. And bring up the lumos."
As the room brightened, Del ambled in, wearing a T-shirt and jeans with ragged mesh patches. He smiled at Mac. "I got a comm from Zachary Marksman. He congratulated me on the show."
"Good." Mac wasn't surprised. Zachary was the one who had decided to yank Del off the tour. He probably wanted to minimize any hard feelings if Del found out.
"You should be sleeping," Mac said. "We're flying to D.C. in the morning."
Del went into the kitchenette and thumbed an order into the icer. "I thought the next job was in Boston."
"It is. But you have three days until then. You can work on the vid and virt."
Del looked up. "Isn't that too short notice to get a studio?"
"Yeah. But they'll let us work afterhours." Mac smiled slightly. "Prime-Nova has a lot of studios."
Del regarded him uncertainly. "I've never seen a virt. I don't know what to do."
"The techs put it together. You just sing." Mac took a cube from a pile on the table and lobbed it to Del. As the youth grabbed it, Mac said, "That's Mind Mix's latest."
"Great." Del pulled two beers out of the icer and came over with the drinks in one hand and the cube in the other. He mimed throwing the beer, but when Mac glared, Del grinned and handed it to him. Then he dropped into a nearby chair.
"Do you think Jason Mulroney really wants to interview me?" Del asked.
"Sure. You'll need someone to set it up." Mac flipped open his beer, which cooperated this time. "You need a publicist. Someone to field requests for interviews, send out promotional materials, all that."
"Ricki said something about Prime-Nova looking into it."
Mac snorted. "Ricki won't do anything for an undercity news service. She wants to separate your image from them." Wryly he added, "She'll say it's because they aren't commercial, but I think she just doesn't like them. They don't scrape and bow to her."
Del tilted his bottle back and forth as if suddenly fascinated by the condensation on its surface. "Have you heard from her?"
"Not since Philadelphia." It was three in the morning now, so technically Del's Philadelphia concert had been two days ago.
"I guess she's busy." Del glanced around restlessly. "You know, these hotel rooms all look the same."
"Don't let Ricki get to you."
Del glanced at him like a deer caught in a glare of laser-light lamps. "It's just—I didn't think I hurt her, but now I wonder."
"I'm sure you didn't." The only person Mac saw getting hurt was Del.
"I would know," Del said, more to himself than Mac. "I was upset about the concert, and maybe it came out in how I treated her. But I felt it, Mac. She likes me edgy. I don't understand why she's acting like this."
Mac took a long drink of his beer, cold and frothy. "Men have been trying since the beginning of human life to figure out why women don't act the way we think they should. If you manage it, you'll win a Nobel Peace Prize."
"I can't even understand half of what she says," Del grumbled. "Like what is 'dom' and 'sub'?"
Mac choked on his beer and sputtered out froth.
"What?" Del regarded him with curiosity.
Mac suddenly wished he were elsewhere. He was no innocent, but this was more information than he needed about Del and Ricki.
Del laughed, watching his face. "I've never seen you blush. Come on, give. What does it mean?"
Mac cleared his throat. "It refers to a type of, um, sex play."
"Really?" Del looked even more intrigued. "Like what?"
"You know. Dominance. Submission."
"Dominance and submission of what?"
"For crying out loud, Del. Of the people doing it."
"You mean sex?"
"Yeah, I mean sex."
Del tilted his head. "Dominant how?"
This was excruciating. "One partner is, uh, the dominant one. He, or she I suppose, does things to the other person." He wished Del would start getting it, so Mac could stop saying it.
"What things?" Del asked.
Mac took a big swallow of beer. "Like, uh, tying up someone. Discipline. Um. Spanking. Like that." He squinted at Del. "This isn't really my thing. Maybe we should change the subject."
Del was staring at him. "Oh. Oh." Then he smiled. "You know, if Ricki doesn't—"
"Enough!" Mac's face was definitely heating. "I don't want to know what that smile means."
Del regarded him innocently. "What, I can't smile?"
"So," Mac said too loudly. "Did you have a good dinner tonight? I haven't tried the hotel restaurant yet."
Del burst out laughing. "All right. Yeah, dinner was fine. Some weird thing called a tuna-tish melt."
"You mean tuna fish?"
"I have no idea." Del's smile faded. He fell silent, lost in thought, staring at the floor. After a moment, he said, "I wonder sometimes if they aren't in all of us a little."
"Who?" Mac asked.
Del raised his gaze. "The Aristos."
It took Mac a moment to reorient. Startled, he realized Del was comparing himself to the leaders of the Trader Empire that the Skolians had fought during the war.
"Good Lord," Mac said. "That stuff with Ricki's crowd is just games. A consensual form of play. She wasn't comparing you to an Aristo slave lord."
"I know." Del got up and paced away, then swung around to face Mac. "But the drive to hurt people didn't just appear in the Traders. They may have magnified it to horrific proportions, but it's always been in us."
"Horrific?" Mac raised his eyebrows. "Isn't that a bit melodramatic? I've heard what your people claim, but—"
"We don't claim." Del punched at the air with his fist. "All you Allieds, you sit here satisfied with yourselves while the Traders hack away at my people. Oh, you're safe. Our civilization is so much bigger than yours, you hide in our shadow. And the new Trader emperor is only seventeen. But give him time. He'll turn into a monster just like his predecessors." He pointed at Mac. "One of these days, the Traders will come after all of you. And it'll be too late then for you to listen to us."
That had certainly hit a nerve. Mac pushed up out of his chair and walked over to him. "Tell me."
"Tell you what?" Del asked angrily. "About the slavery of billions? Brutality on a scale you can't imagine?"
"I've seen Trader cities," Mac said quietly. "Their people have the highest standard of living among any of our civilizations."
"Of course they do," Del said. "There's over a trillion of them. Owned by several thousand Aristos. How do so few slave owners subjugate so many people? Make their lives pleasant. As long as they obey, they live well and the empire thrives."
"I agree that owning people is abhorrent," Mac said. "I've no love for Aristos. But what you're describing is hardly horrific."
Del met his gaze. "You think a nice house is worth constant oppression? If they step out of line, they die. It's called genocide, Mac. The Aristos can't risk defiance when so few of them control so many people." An edge honed his voice. "So what if you kill a few billion? There's plenty more where they came from."
Mac had heard similar from the Skolian military, when they sought Earth's support in their war against the Traders. They called the Aristos masters at propaganda. Yet Mac had seen a great deal of evidence for how well the Aristos treated their people and very little proof of the Skolian claims.
"Have you actually witnessed any of this?" Mac asked.
Del spoke tightly. "You don't want to go there."
"I want to understand. I'll listen, but not to propaganda."
"Propaganda?" Del looked ready to explode. "We underplay the truth with your people, because your damn government is always accusing us of overreacting. You have no flaming idea."
"Then tell me."
Del ground out the words as if they were broken glass. "They killed my brother Kurj. They tortured my brother Althor. He died. They tortured my brother Eldrin. He got free, but he still hasn't recovered. They shattered my father and fed off his agony. They caught my mother and—and—we got her out, but at first she couldn't even talk."
An image jumped into Mac's mind of the golden woman he had so recently witnessed scolding her son across interstellar space.
Del went on, relentless. "My sister's squad discovered that the Aristos planned to destroy the atmosphere of the world called Tams Station, to crush a rebellion on that planet. Her squad helped the colony evacuate. They got a third of the people out. One third. Think about it. Two thirds of a world died. It's all imprinted in the brains of the squad EIs." His voice cracked. "Yes, I've seen it."
Good Lord. "I'm sorry about your family. I had no idea." Mac knew the Traders had killed Del's sister, the previous Imperator, and his half-brother Kurj, the Imperator before her. The rest of what Del was telling him about his family had never been made public. "I've heard stories of how they destroyed the atmosphere of Tams, but I've never met anyone who saw EI records of it." To say the EI brains of a Jag fighter squadron were classified was akin to saying a beach had a few grains of sand.
Del just shook his head. He walked away, then stopped when a table blocked his way. Sitting down, he stared at the table. "My father lived for years, but he never fully recovered. It's only been a few months since he died."
Mac went around and sat across from him. "It's been a rough time."
Del looked up. "It would be easier if the Aristos just wanted to kill my family. But they want us alive. So they can hurt us."
It wasn't the first time Mac had heard that claim, but before it had been from Skolian officials. Hearing it from one of the people who would suffer at the hands of the Traders was different. "Why would they target you that way?"
"I suppose you could say Aristos are anti-empaths." Del's voice was brittle. "They came out of something called the Rhon Project."
"I thought that project was meant to help empaths."
"It was." Del took a breath. "Being an empath is like—I don't know the word. Like living with this constant, endless pressure. Last night, when I felt how much people liked the concert, it was good. Great. But when you pick up anger, grief, anything like that, it's painful. If we couldn't shut it out, we'd go insane."
Mac thought of the dossiers he had read on the Ruby Dynasty. "Wasn't the purpose of the Rhon Project to help psions create mental shields? To protect yourselves."
Del nodded. "That's why we know how to do it. But Doctor Rhon also changed our genes. Not mine, my ancestors. He was trying to lower our sensitivity to painful input." He gave a strangled laugh. "It didn't quite end up the way he expected."
"The research didn't work?"
"Oh, it worked," Del said. "It created the Aristos. They can pick up empathic signals from psions. Pain signals, both physical and mental. Only those. And you know how the Aristo brain lowers its sensitivity to the signals? By rerouting them to its pleasure centers." His voice cracked. "They're a bunch of sadists, Mac. Hurting us makes them feel good. They call us providers because our pain 'provides' them pleasure. They're brutal and sick, and they think they're exalted, that they have a right to inflict whatever they damn well please because they're gods and we're scum."
Del's words felt like punches. Mac had never heard it this way, with a target of the Aristos looking him straight in the eye, telling it in his words rather than the careful phrases of diplomacy. "I wish my people understood yours better."
"We need each other." Del gave a wry grin. "That's why the Skolian military didn't zap you all for keeping my royal butt here."
Mac smiled slightly, relieved to see Del's mood improve. "You're learning our slang."
"Ultra swivel." Del laughed with a wince. "Like my hips, apparently."
Mac winced. "Sorry about that review."
"It's a lot better than what Fred Pizwick said." Del's smile turned into a frown. "I did not use a Roberts Enhancer."
"Michael Laux on the Atlantic City-Time Hour wants to interview you about that." Mac offered the subject more to take Del's mind off the Aristos than because it had any urgency. "He wants you to do the exercise live, to prove you don't use an enhancer."
"Good!" Del's shook his head. "I don't see how Pizwick can get away with saying I used one."
"He won't," Mac said. "But hell, you couldn't pay for this kind of publicity."
Del smiled wryly. "To sell my nonexistent vid."
"We'll get you in the studio tomorrow." Mac glanced at his wrist-mesh. "You should get some sleep. It's almost four."
"All right." Del stood up and rubbed his eyes. "I'll see you." He went to the door, then paused to look back. "And Mac—"
"Yes?"
Del spoke softly. "Thanks for listening."
Mac nodded, wishing he could do more. Like change the universe so one part of the human race wasn't preying on the other.
Del sat down at the console in his hotel room and clicked in the virt cube Mac had given him. A female voice said, "Virtual reality simulation array loaded."
That sounded impressive. "What do I do?" Del asked.
"Your question is vague," the console said. "Please be specific."
"How do I listen to the virt?"
"With yourself or someone else in it?"
In it? Del wasn't sure what that meant. "With me."
"Do you have internal biomech augmentation compatible with a Pacifica tri-media system?"
"Uh, no. I don't think so."
"You'll need a virt suit, then."
"Do you have one?"
"Check the lower drawer of this console."
Del investigated until he figured out how to click open the console drawer. A blue suit inside transparent packaging lay there with a visored helmet. He lifted out the suit. "So do I put this on?"
"That is correct. Remove your clothes first."
He laughed sleepily. "I'd rather hear that from Ricki."
Del changed into the suit and sat down, holding the helmet. With the console telling him what to do, he linked into the virt, then donned the helmet and settled back in the reclining chair. It was comfortable in the dark with the visor over his eyes. If nothing happened, he could get a few hours of sleep before the room AI insisted he get out of bed. Or chair.
The room lightened—no, not the room! He was standing in a rippling field that sparked under golden light. The sweet fragrance of the fresh grass tickled his nose, and a breeze tousled his hair. Insects trilled nearby.
"Hey," Del said. "Ultra."
A man was walking toward him through the field.
"Rex?" Del asked. It looked like the lead singer of Mind Mix.
"Hey." Rex came up and offered his hand. "Good to see you."
Del shook his hand, and Rex's skin felt warm and textured.
"Hi," Del said.
"Would you like a tour?" Rex asked.
"Sure." This was more than Del expected. His family had an entertainment center at home, but it was mostly books, because his parents had wanted their children to read instead of playing virts. It had constantly frustrated Del; out of ten siblings, only he had never learned to read. Sure, an AI could read to him. But he preferred music. His people used songs as their "libraries." In their distant past they had bred the Bards to create and remember historical ballads. Musical archives.
Lyshrioli music bored him, though. He wouldn't have minded learning the art songs or folk music of his people if he hadn't been under so much pressure to drop what he wanted in favor of what everyone else wanted.
He walked with Rex through the meadow. "Do you remember me?" Del asked.
"I remember Mac Tyler," Rex said. "I don't have anything yet for you in this virt. But I'll remember this session."
"You're not really Rex, are you?" Del said.
Rex gave him an apologetic look. "Just an avatar. But you can have real people join you in the virt, if you want."
"It's five a.m.," Del said, laughing. "They're asleep." He paused as a thought occurred to him. "Am I talking out loud in my suit? I mean, if someone came into my room, would they hear me having this conversation with you?"
"Possibly," Rex said. "It depends on your setup. If you have a direct brain to console interface, this all takes place in your mind."
"I'm just wearing a suit."
"Are you subvocalizing?"
"I'm not sure what that means."
"If you think the word," Rex said, "muscles in your vocal cords, tongue, and throat move. The virt suit interprets it as speech." He sounded far more patient than the real Rex would have been with so many questions. "If you subvocalize, it keeps your session private."
"Oh. Okay. I can do that." Del indicated a building with swooping arches ahead. "What's that?"
"It's for your personal concert."
"Actually, I'd rather see you guys practice." Del liked to watch other people rehearse to learn what techniques they used to improve.
"Sure, we can do that." Rex gave a friendly laugh. "Most people want a personalized concert, with the real Rex."
"I know the real Rex," Del said. "You're more pleasant." He immediately felt guilty, given that Rex was the only member of Mind Mix who hadn't wanted him yanked off the tour. "But he's a good guy."
"I'm glad you think so. Here." Rex waved his hand.
Suddenly Del was inside a big, airy warehouse. Mind Mix was rehearsing in the open area. Sort of rehearsing. Rex sang the songs straight through with no stops, and sounded far better than the real rehearsal Del had heard yesterday. Tristan never missed a beat on his drums, and Tackman played his morpher better than in real life.
After a few songs, Del said, "Never mind." He didn't speak loudly, but the rehearsal stopped and both Rex and Tristan appeared next to him.
"Hey," Tristan said. "Glad to meet you." He even cracked a smile.
"Yeah, right," Del said. "The real Tristan can't stand me."
"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself," Rex said. "Would you like to try one of the story virts?"
"What's that?" Del asked.
Rex snapped his fingers and everything went dark. Music started, and somewhere Rex sang, "Honey, your eyes froze me, froze me, yeah, froze me in the night."
A street appeared, soaked from a recent rain. It was night, and a lone streetlamp reflected in the oily water of the alley. A woman in a trench coat walked toward Del, a hat pulled low over her face, her blond hair curling out from under it. She wore heels so high, he wondered how she kept from falling onto her face.
"Hey, honey," she said as she came up to him.
"Uh, hi." Del could see her eyes under the hat. They were large and blue. Icy blue. The virt intensified the color.
"Freeze me, Baaaaaaby," Rex wailed.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" the woman said.
"Del." The way her hair curled over her face was driving him nuts. Well, this was his session. He could do what he wanted. So he brushed it out of her eyes, and her hat slid back, revealing more of her face. She was sexy in a jaded sort of way. Rex kept singing, accompanied by the erotic beat of Tristan's drums.
"So Del," the woman said. "Why are you out here alone?"
"I've no idea," Del admitted with a laugh.
She touched his cheek with a well-manicured finger. "I think a sweet thing like you shouldn't be in a place like this at night. You could get into trouble."
"Freeeeze my heart," Rex sang.
"With you?" Del wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss her.
Her lips parted. "Why don't you find out?"
"I don't know if I should risk it," Del said, smiling. "This song ends with Rex yelling, 'Baby, you done froze my heart and smashed it all over the street.' "
"Come on, honey," she coaxed.
What the hell. Del put his arms around her waist and yanked her close. She felt real. When he opened her coat and slid his hand inside, skimming it under her breast, she felt even better. He had no idea what he was actually doing in the virt suit, and he didn't want to know, but here he kissed her. She molded against him, her face tilted up and her eyes closed. When he tried to caress her breast, though, she stepped away from him.
"You're dynamite, sweetheart," she said.
Rex groaned, "Baby, frazy, baby, crazy."
"Hey," Del said. "Don't go away."
She stayed back. "You're coming on strong, honey."
"You know," he said good-naturedly. "Whoever programmed this virt could have come up with more for you to call me than honey and sweetheart." Then again, this was part of a song with lyrics like "frazy, baby." Maybe he didn't want them thinking up more dialogue for their virtual femme fatale.
"Tell me," Del asked. "How far could I go with you?"
"Now, honey—"
"No, wait, I really want to know." Del felt his face redden. "I'm going to start making one of these virts tomorrow. I was wondering what people could, uh, do in them."
The song stopped, and Rex came up alongside of him on the street. The woman remained standing in place.
"You're making a virt?" Rex asked.
Del blinked, startled. At least Rex wasn't singing anymore. "I would feel really strange," Del said, "if people could buy my virts and, well, you know."
"Screw the simulations?"
"Since you put it so bluntly, yeah."
"It's against the law." Rex indicated the woman, who hadn't moved since he appeared. "She'll kiss you, but that's all. If you're underage, you don't even get kisses. Adults can buy X-rated virts, but Prime-Nova doesn't make them, at least not under that corporate name."
Del regarded him uncomfortably. "Does an artist get any choice in how his virt is set up?"
"Some." Rex pulled out a smoke-stick and lit up. The end glowed green. "Depends how much clout your manager has." He inhaled on the stick and blew out a plume of red smoke.
"Suppose a girl bought your virt and wanted you to kiss her?" Del asked.
"You have more choice on that." Rex puffed on his stick. "Nothing more than a kiss. But your simulation can go on dates with them if you okay those mods when you make the virt."
Del couldn't imagine virtual dates. Of course, he wouldn't really be on them. It would be some program designed to simulate him. Which was even weirder. "What if a guy comes into the virt?"
Rex shrugged. "I'll do a date if they want. You interested?"
"What? No, I didn't mean that!" Virtual or not, Del's face was burning. "Will the one I make for Prime-Nova be that way?"
"Not if you don't want to. But they'll ask you to allow it as an option." Rex seemed amused by his reaction. "Some virt users set up whole households. Or hair-raising adventures to find hidden treasure. Or shopping sprees. All with their favorite rock star. You can program this virt however you want as long as it's legal and not too far out of character for the actual Rex Montrow." He blew a smoke ring. "It can't violate the morals standards, either."
"You mean the censors." As far as Del could tell, they had a ridiculous amount of control over the industry. He was surprised this version of Rex got away with some of his language. Then again, it was mild compared to the real Rex.
"Are there restrictions on words you can say?" Del asked. "Screw is okay. Damn? Yeah, that works. F—" He stopped. "Suppose you want to say f—? Huh. Okay, that doesn't work."
"D— doesn't work, either," Rex said, laughing. "Or c—"
"What are those?"
"Oh, come on."
Del could guess one of them. "What if I'm a workman, and I need to drill a hole—hey, it let me say it. But not, I'm d— out of my mind."
"It's the context. The virt analyzes your speech." He considered Del. "You have a thick accent, if you don't mind my saying. English isn't your native language?"
"No. Prime-Nova makes me practice so I won't have an accent when I sing." He paused, feeling odd. The scene around him vibrated. "That's a bizarre effect."
"It's not an effect." Rex blew out a long stream of smoke. "Someone is shaking you."
"Oh." Del started to leave, then stopped. He had no idea "where" to go. What if he couldn't leave the virt? It was a strange thought, alarming and intriguing at the same time.
"I don't know how to stop this session," Del said.
"Just say, 'End virt.' Anything like that."
"Oh. Okay. End virt."
The scene went dark. After a moment, Del became aware of his body in the virt suit. He lifted off the helmet and found himself looking up at Randall. At first he thought his vision was shaking. Then he realized Randall was doing it all on his own.
"Hey," Del said. "How'd you get in my room?"
"You left the door unlocked." Randall laughed blurrily. "You should be more careful. You never know what lowlife'll creep in here." Swaying back and forth, he held up a bottle of clear liquid and two hotel glasses. "We should celebrate."
Del sat up, stretching his arms. "That virt was fun."
"They get boring real fast." Randall pulled over a recliner and sat by Del. "They're too predictable." He poured a glass of whatever was in his bottle and handed it to Del. "Now this is never the same twice."
Del smelled the liquid. "Whoa. What is it?"
"Ouzo. Greek fire water." Randall filled his own glass, took a big swallow, and let out a belch. "Oh, yeah."
Del laughed. "Is that a recommendation or a warning?"
"It's good. Try it."
Del set the drink on the console. "I'm allergic."
"Yeah, right."
"Really." Del didn't want to explain. "I should get some sleep, anyway."
Randall leaned back in his recliner. "You sleep." He lifted his glass to Del. "I'll celebrate for you."
Del smiled. "That virt was almost as good as sleeping."
Randall's eyelids drooped closed. "They're all the same after a while, least ways, the legal ones."
"Legal?" Del asked, intrigued. "What do illegal ones do?"
"Now how would a well-behaved boy like me know that?"
Del grinned. "Hypothetically."
Randall raised his lids halfway, his eyes glinting. "You can do whatever you want. With who you want. For as long as you want. A bliss-node can keep you in for hours. It's the thrill, you know, because you can't leave until the session ends. Like taking tau-kickers, only better. Hell, you can set your own trip. Whatever you want. Women. Wealth. Power." Then he said, "Not that I would know anything about tau-kickers or bliss-nodes."
Del laughed sleepily. "Of course not."
"It's safe, too, sort of," Randall said. "You're not putting anything in your body. No chemicals."
Del sat up straighter. "So nothing inside you can react with it? I mean, physiologically."
"Fizzy what?" Randall's voice slurred. "For someone who just learned English, you have one hell of a vocabulary." He yawned, showing a row of well-formed teeth. "But, yeah, that's right, no chemicals for Soo-Ling to pick up. So she stays happy and you're fine." Then he added, "In theory."
"Why in theory?" Up until those last two words, it had sounded great. "It's harmless, right?"
"Some people claim it'll fry your mind." He finished off his ouzo. "It's wired into your brain. If it goes bad, you can't stop. Not like tau-kickers, where medics can bring you down. Taking someone off a bad node is ugly, like brain-damage ugly."
"Oh." Always there was a catch. "Does it happen a lot?"
"Not that I know of." He contemplated his empty glass, then poured himself more ouzo. "Those stories, they're just bull to scare people. Virts are harmless. Boring as piss, but harmless."
Relief washed over Del. "Why make it so you can't get out? You can leave a regular virt whenever you want."
Randall shrugged. "Supposedly it's more fun, because you can forget it's not real." He leaned back and stretched out his legs. "I dunno. I was never into all that."
Del thought of the concert. "I was so wound up last night, I felt tied into knots. The virt relaxed me."
Randall gave a gravelly laugh. "With Mind Mix?" Closing his eyes, he slumped deeper into his recliner. "God forbid."
"It'd be fun to have a virt of anything I wanted." Del though he'd make it like his home, except his family would approve of him. "The virtual Rex said I could program any virts I buy."
"Sure . . . if you don't want depth . . ." Randall's chin sunk to his chest.
Del caught Randall's drink just before it fell to the floor. He set it on the console and stood watching his guitarist snore. It was the most peaceful he had seen Randall. He got a blanket from the console drawer and spread it over his guest. Then Del ambled to his bed and flopped down, still in the virt suit. He could never have a conversation about a bliss-node with anyone in his family. His mother would want him to see a psychiatrist. His brother Kelric would send some military squad to pull him off Earth. His sister Chaniece might understand, but she would worry so much, Del would shut up because he felt guilty. His brother Eldrin would look at him with that crushing silent disappointment.
It bothered him most that Eldrin didn't understand. He and Del had similar temperaments. Eldrin had also struggled to read, though he eventually learned. And Eldrin sang. He preferred classical works, but he and Del had the same type of voice. Eldrin had done a few virtual operas when he was younger, where he sang in a studio and it went out on the meshes. Millions had listened. Del had wondered then why his brother never performed live; now he understood.
His last thought, as he drifted to sleep, was that maybe this business with Prime-Nova would work out after all. He had taken tau-kickers for the inspiration his constrained life as a Ruby Heir lacked—and destroyed all his dreams in that one killing mistake. Now he had a new universe to explore. He could experiment with virts to reach a level of creativity he had only imagined before. And it was safe.
After all, a simulation couldn't hurt him.