Diamond Star (12 page)

What? Del knew Tackman came from a place called Australia, but he had thought they spoke English there.

Someone touched Del's elbow. Rex looked past Del and turned on his smile, Tackman nodded to someone behind Del, and Tristan aimed his scowl in that direction.

"Hey, Mac," Rex said.

With relief, Del turned to find Mac next to him.

"Good to see you," Mac said to Rex. He took Del's arm. "I'm going to steal him before you three wear him out."

Although they all chuckled at that, it sounded forced.

Del went with him, glad to escape Tristan's glower. "I don't look right, Mac. I need to cut my hair."

"You can't," Mac said.

"What do you mean, I can't?"

"It's in your contract," Mac said. "Remember? You agreed to a costume clause."

"I thought that meant I couldn't wear anything Prime-Nova found offensive."

Mac spoke dryly. "As far as they're concerned, that includes changing your style. They hired a singer with lots of curls. You need their okay to stop having curls."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Yeah, but it's how they do business." Mac led him to a corner where a beefy man in faux urban-camouflage fatigues and a woman with straight black hair were arguing.

"He's got triple the allowed levels," the woman was saying. "It's the third time this tour. Hell, Curtis, it's the third time in the past two weeks."

"He has to go on." The man, Curtis apparently, was shouting. "You aren't the police, Soo-Ling. You can't shut down the act."

"He signed a contract." She tossed a holofile at him, and he barely caught it. "If Tackman can't keep clean, I'll have him kicked off that stage."

Mac cleared his throat, but Curtis and Soo-Ling ignored him. "If you disrupt this tour," Curtis said, waving the holofile, "Prime-Nova will come down on you with nine-hundred-ton lawyers."

Soo-Ling didn't look the least bit cowed by the threat of overweight lawyers. "Ten thousand dollars," she said. "The fine comes out of his take from the tour."

"Five thousand," Curtis said.

"Hell, no," Soo-Ling said. "Tackman is flying. He keeps this up, he's going to fall apart out there."

Mac cleared his throat again, louder this time.

Soo-Ling swung around. "What the hell do you want?"

"This is Del Arden," Mac said. "The opener."

"Oh." She exhaled and spoke more quietly. "Sorry, Mac." She motioned Del over to a medical station against the wall. "I'll be with you in a minute." Turning to Curtis, she said, "Nine thousand."

Del shot an alarmed look at Mac.

"She's going to check you for drugs," Mac said as they walked to the medical station. "Keep clean. If they catch you drilling, the fines come out of your take for the concert. Too many times, and they'll cut you from the tour."

"They do drug testing for concerts?"

"It's in your contract," Mac said. "Under moral standards."

"I thought those meant I couldn't do anything obscene."

"That, too." Mac stopped by the med station, which resembled a two-tier table on wheels. "Prime-Nova has an agreement with Nacon, the North American Narcotics Administration. If the company polices its artists, Nacon won't arrest them."

Soo-Ling stalked over, still arguing with Curtis, who was apparently Mind Mix's manager. "Get him a babysitter, Curtis." She scowled at Del. "Put your arm in the cuff. And don't argue with me. It's been a long day."

"Soo," Mac said softly.

"Sorry," she muttered.

Del squinted at the med station, which had nothing that looked like a "cuff" to him. The closest was a tube of light glimmering above the top tier. Regarding it dubiously, he put his arm inside the tube. Something whirred, and then he couldn't move his arm. Startled, he jerked on it, trying to pull away.

"Hey," Del said, alarmed. "It's got me."

"All you found was neuro-amp," Curtis was telling Soo, oblivious to Del. "How are these guys supposed to go three hours every night with no relief and nothing to keep them awake? It's impossible."

"Tackman should try sleeping." Soo-Ling punched panels on the med station. "Not partying every chance he gets."

"Soo, Del has to go on soon," Mac said.

Del tried harder to free his arm, to no avail. He winced as pins pricked his skin. He couldn't
see
anything; he just felt it. A display of holos appeared above his arm showing a man's body, including muscles, organs, circulatory system, skeleton, and a neurological map. Symbols scrolled by under the images.

"Uh, could someone get my arm out of this thing?" Del asked.

"They're too overbooked to have a party," Curtis told Soo-Ling. "Maybe if Prime-Nova backed off their tour schedule, they wouldn't be so fucking desperate to stay awake."

Del wasn't surprised Tackman was taking neuro-amps, if he had to deal with bizarre tubes of light while everyone ignored him.

"Well, here's good news." Soo was studying a display on the med station. "Their warm-up is clean. Healthy nanomeds, no chemicals, and no neural stim." She glanced at Del. "Stay that way, babe. You'll have a lot less trouble."

Babe again? Del liked it from Ricki, but he was tired of it from everyone else. With a tube of light holding him prisoner, though, he was too nervous to be annoyed. Besides, except for Bonnie, he
was
the youngest person here.

The light tube suddenly vanished, and his arm fell onto the padded top of the station. Mac let out a breath, as if he hadn't been sure the cuff would release Del, either.

"Thanks, Soo," Mac said.

"Yeah." She glared at Curtis and launched back into their argument.

Mac gave Del a rueful look as he motioned toward a wall across the room. "Come on. I know a calmer place."

Del's pulse was ratcheting up. "How long until I go on?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Gods give me luck," Del muttered in Iotic.

Mac spoke in a low voice as they crossed the room. "Del."

"What?" He snapped out the word.

"The chance of anyone here knowing the language of Skolian royalty is tiny, but it's not impossible."

"Oh." Del pushed his hand through his hair. "Sorry."

An arch shimmered in the wall and vanished in front of them. Mac escorted Del through the opening into a quieter room. Jud, Randall, and Anne were already there.

"Del, you look like a ghost," Anne said, laughing good-naturedly. "You okay?"

Randall frowned at him. "You passed Soo's tests, didn't you?"

"I'm fine," Del said. "We all set to go on?" The wall must have turned solid behind him, because the noise from the other room was gone.

"All set," Jud said. He came over and spoke in a lower voice. "Are you?"

"Sure." Del forced a smile. His mind was about to implode, but he couldn't say anything. These three had worked overtime preparing for a concert that just a week ago they had no idea they would be playing. Mac had chosen the best for him, and Del didn't want to let them down.

A woman stepped through a doorway across the room. "Ten minutes," she said. "You can come upstairs if you want."

Randall grinned, his teeth flashing. "Let's go knock 'em dead!"

Jud lifted his hand as if inviting Del to a feast. "After you."

Del headed out and hoped he wasn't the one about to be devoured.

They were crushing him.

The evening sky arched overhead with stars coming out. People were everywhere. Tens of thousands. They filled the area before the stage, crammed tiers of seats beyond, and overflowed the hills. A sea of minds. He was drowning in an empathic flood.

He must have gone to the center of the stage, because he was standing there, holding a michael. His mind sought refuge in a monotonous litany of nonsensical English words he had learned in the past week. Maid, grade, stayed, laid. He couldn't remember his songs. He could only stare at the audience.

"Del, take a deep breath." Mac's voice came over the comm in Del's ear. "Let it out slowly."

Del breathed in, filling his lungs. Then he exhaled.

"Again," Mac said, his voice soothing. Reassuring.

Del breathed slowly. He became aware of music playing.
His
music. They were doing the intro to "Emeralds." The familiar beat helped calm him. He lifted the mike and thumbed it on. He was supposed to say something, some introduction, he didn't remember what. But he never forgot how to sing. He took a breath and let the words come out:

Green as the bitter nail
They drove into my name
I won't try to fail
Just to satisfy their game

The music from Jud's morpher soared, Anne kept the rhythm on her drums, and Randall finessed the notes on his stringer, sounding even better than in rehearsals. Del went through the song too fast and missed a few words, but he managed.

The mood of the audience was an ocean surging over him. He couldn't separate them into individuals. He didn't realize he was backing up until his legs hit a barrier. He stumbled, looking around, and his voice faltered. He had run into a light amplifier on the edge of the stage. He was so far back, he could barely see anyone in the audience. But he felt them. They didn't understand his song. The music was confusing, they couldn't make out the lyrics, and he had no special effects.

"Del, listen," Mac said. "You have to sing."

Taking a breath, Del lifted his head and sang again:

I'll never listen to the lies
I'll never turn my back on you
Never wait 'til someone dies
To promise my love is true

"Go up to the front of the stage." Mac's voice kept on in his ear, calm and persistent. "Go up."

He tried to walk forward, but he was wading through antagonism. The people didn't like him. They wanted him to finish so Mind Mix could play. He kept singing only because he didn't know what else to do.

After "Emeralds," they launched into an experimental piece Del had been working on with Jud before he had ever heard of Prime-Nova:

Angel, be my diamond star
Before my darkness goes too far
Splinter through my endless night
Lightening my darkling sight

The audience liked this one better than the last, but it was still too different. It only added to their overall
impatience.
Del shut his mind off then and went into a haze, singing by rote while he drowned in the empathic flood of their moods.

Del slumped in the circular seat at the back of the van while the vehicle hummed through the night. Randall and Anne were asleep in seats up front. Cameron was wide-awake, sitting sideways so he could look over his seat toward the back. Jud, Mac, and Bonnie had joined Del, gathered around the table in the center of the circular seat. The van was driving itself, communing with the traffic grid that controlled Interstate 95 north of Baltimore as they headed to their hotel, to catch some sleep before the next concert.

"What does it matter if I show up?" Del said, depressed.

"Of course it matters," Mac told him. "You agreed to open for Mind Mix at the Philadelphia concert. If you don't show, you're in violation of your contract."

"I'm not backing out," Del said. "But no one will want me to sing when they hear about tonight. I crashed out there."

"You don't know that," Jud said. "It was different, sure, but it might have gone better than you think."

"Believe me," Del said. "I know."

"I thought you sounded great," Bonnie told him.

"Audiences in outdoor concerts always make noise," Mac said. "That doesn't mean they weren't listening."

Jud rolled out a mesh on his lap. As it stiffened into a screen, he flicked up some holicon menus.

"Anything yet?" Mac asked.

Jud scanned the screen. "A lot of holo-chats about Mind Mix."

Del knew the major reviewers were the ones Prime-Nova would read first. "What about the news services?"

"Nothing here--no, wait." Jud paged through several menus. "The
Baltimore Solar Site
has one."

"What does it say?" Del didn't want to hear, but he couldn't stand not knowing even more.

"Wait a sec--" Jud went silent as he read. Then he said, "It's just about Mind Mix."

"What?" Mac asked. "Nothing about Del?"

Jud looked up with a shuttered gaze. "I guess not."

Del could tell Jud was trying to protect him. "Don't fool with me. Just play it."

Jud met his gaze. "You're sure?"

Del forced himself to nod. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Can you turn it up?" Anne said.

Startled, Del turned around. Both Anne and Randall were looking over the back of their seats.

"Fine," Jud muttered. "It's Fred Pizwick's column."

A man's voice snapped out of the mesh. "Last night at the Merriweather Post Pavilion, Mind Mix proved once again why they're one of the top groups in the world, with a powerhouse show that left their fans screaming for more." He went on and on about the great performance. Del sat tensely, waiting for the axe, but when Pizwick never mentioned him, he began to relax. Nothing at all was still a negative review, but easier to bear than a slam.

Then Pizwick said, "Unfortunately, last night started on a sour note. Many, in fact. One can only wonder what possessed Prime-Nova to put a shoddy act that crawled out of the undercity on the same stage as some of this decade's most exciting musicians. Billed as 'Del Arden,' and nothing else, Mister Arden showed forty thousand people last night why nothing else appears in his billing. Because he doesn't have it. Don't ask me what he looks like. I've no idea. He hid at the back of the stage during the entire performance. Don't ask me what he sang; I couldn't understand the lyrics. Don't ask me about his show; he didn't have one. Of course one would never suggest he must have slept his way into this job, but after last night's debacle, we can be pretty certain this is the last of Del Arden we'll see."

Silence followed the review. Del felt the same numbness that came when he hit the ground after an unusually hard throw during martial arts practice. It would start to hurt later.

Finally Anne said, "My God."

Jud made an incredulous noise. "That was vicious."

"Fred Pizwick is known for harsh reviews," Mac said. "But that went over the edge."

Yeah. Right. Del wanted to hide. It was bad enough failing in front of his family. To have it happen in front of so many people, covered by a media outlet that went all over Earth--he might as well just go crawl under a rock.