Diamond Star (22 page)

When Del felt steadier, he went into the misting-stall and let the cleansing mists bathe him. He scoured his teeth, then dried off in the sumptuous hot air blasts. After that, he just stood, leaning his forehead against the tiled wall. He couldn't believe what he had done last night. Gods only knew what Ricki thought of him now. He hoped he had made love only to her. He thought so, but they had all been so entangled, he had lost track of who was touching him.

After a few minutes, when he felt steadier, he went back to the other room in search of his clothes. The girl was awake and sitting up. Del stopped, startled, especially now that he could see her in the morning light spilling through a high window. Black hair fell around her body, and her upward tilted eyes were unlike anything he had seen before. The purple on her eyelids was unsmudged, which made him wonder if it was permanent.

Del smiled. "Hello."

"Hi." She pulled a cushion over herself. "Who are you?"

"Del." He sat next to her. "Do you remember? I was here last night."

Her smile curved. "I would never forget you." She glanced around, looking as groggy as he felt. "Where are the others?"

"They left, I guess." Del was getting the feeling that Ricki's crowd had a hierarchy, and the people on the lowest rung ended up alone in the morning.

"Are you all right?" she asked. "You seemed tight last night."

"Yeah, I'm fine. I've just never been to a party like that."

The girl laughed softly. "I know. They get a little wild." She tilted her head, studying his face. "You're cute, you know." She let the cushion drop away from her body. "I don't think we've been formally introduced."

Del flushed. She sat there like a voluptuous goddess, alive and warm, and he wasn't even aware he had leaned forward until she drew him into a kiss. Then his brain caught up with his hormones, and he pulled away.

"I shouldn't," he said. "I came here with Ricki."

The girl pouted. "She left without you."

A familiar anger stabbed at him, but with less bite this morning. Maybe he was growing used to her vanishing act. Hell, he deserved it after the way he had treated her last night. Or maybe he was just too spiked-over to think straight.

"You're sweet and beautiful," he murmured. "But it wouldn't be right."

She blinked. "Why not?"

Wasn't it obvious? "I can't sleep with one woman at night and someone else the next morning."

"Of course you can." She stretched languorously, letting him look. "You can do whatever you want."

Del couldn't help but stare. So lovely. "If I was going to with anyone," he said softly, "it would be you."

She traced her finger down his cheek. "If you change your mind . . ."

Del kissed her. "You deserve better than me."

Then he stood up. With reluctance, he put on his clothes and headed out.

He just wished he knew how the blazes he would get home when he had no idea where he had spent the night.

Mac was setting up a meeting for one of his clients when his office AI appeared above his desk, the holo of a young woman with light brown hair.

"You have a visitor," she said. "Del Arden."

Finally! He couldn't believe Del had sent Cameron home last night and then disappeared. Mac hadn't stopped worrying. Now he was angry.

"Send him in," Mac said.

As soon as his wayward charge walked in, Mac wondered if Del had slept at all last night. He had dark rings under his eyes, and his shaggy mane of hair was tousled as if he had just woken up, though it was past noon.

Del slouched in a chair across the desk. "Hi."

"You look like shit," Mac said.

Del stared at a point of the desk somewhere to the right of Mac. "Long night."

Mac spoke sharply. "Look at me."

Del raised his startled gaze. "What?"

"Cameron is your bodyguard. We told your family we would protect you. You send him away again, I'll tan your royal hide."

Del's face tightened. "Drill it, Mac. If I want to go without a bodyguard, I'll do it."

"Fine. Great. Just great. You have fun last night?"

"As a matter of fact, yes." Del was looking at the random point on the desk again.

"You sound as convincing as a mesh dealer trying to sell broken consoles," Mac said.

Del just shook his head. So Mac waited.

After a moment, Del looked up. "Maybe I got a little carried away."

A headache throbbed in Mac's temples. "I'm afraid to ask."

"With Ricki. I . . ." Del reddened. "Uh."

"You stuttered at her?" Mac couldn't help but smile. Del looked like a naughty boy. "That sounds drastic."

Del glared at him. But it provoked him into describing his night. When he finished, he said, "The concierge at the hotel got me a fly-taxi, and it took me here."

Mac's headache was getting worse. "You were certainly busy."

"Well, you know." Del pulled at his ear.

"How did you pay your taxi fare?"

The youth shifted in his seat. "Like with the, um, doctor's bill."

"We need to talk about that." Mac had set up an account for Del and was paying his expenses, but if the prince wasn't careful, he would run through his advance from Prime-Nova long before he saw any more income.

"I think Ricki's upset at me," Del said.

"Maybe I'm dense," Mac said, "but the last time I checked, 'Kiss me, you sexy bastard' was hardly the cry of a distressed damsel." He was angrier at her than at Del. "She's the one who should feel guilty. You kept saying you wanted to leave the party. So what do they do? Smash you on spikers and push you into group sex. Real charming."

Del's lips quirked upward. "It was tough. But I survived."

"Oh, quit smirking," Mac said. "Why did you throw up? I've heard of people passing out from spikers, but never vomiting. This after your 'friends' stranded you with some girl you don't know from slam in the wall. What if you'd had a worse reaction?" He let out an explosive breath. "It scares the blazes out of me."

"I can't go through life being afraid." Del pushed up to his feet and strode away, then spun around. "I'd rather
not
live than be trapped in a glass palace, looking at the world but never touching it. It's my decision to make." Then Del added, "Trying new experiences is good for a person." He even said it with a straight face. Almost. Then he grinned.

Mac wondered what he was going to do with this misbehaved prince. "Just be careful, all right. Taking control of your life and taking unnecessary risks are two different things. You do this playboy thing too hard, you could burn yourself out."

"
Playboy?
" Del's grin vanished like spit in the wind. "I am
not
her 'boy-toy.' "

It took Mac a moment to figure out what he meant. Then he smiled. "I never noticed that. The words
do
sound the same. But they mean different things." He thought for a moment. "Playboy is like
jizzora
in Skolian. Except playboy refers to a man rather than a woman."

Del bristled. "You're saying I'm a rich man who doesn't work and devotes himself to a life of pleasure without commitments or responsibilities?" After a moment, he said, "Okay, maybe that described me once. But not anymore. The past few years, I've mostly been doing the father thing and farming."

The
father thing.
Mac sometimes forgot how much that had meant to Del. "Do you miss your nephews?"

"Always." Del spoke awkwardly. "They're better off without me."

"Why do you say that?"

Del shrugged, his gaze sliding around the room. "You have a lot of expensive stuff here."

Mac glanced at the synth-crystal shelves full of gold, silver, or crystal vid cubes. "When one of my clients has a success, sometimes they give me a keepsake to celebrate."

"Oh."

"Del."

The prince looked at him. "Yes?"

"The playboy thing--is that why they didn't betroth you to the Majda Matriarch? Devon, I mean."

Del stiffened. "It's none of your damn business."

Mac waited.

After a moment, Del said, "Yeah, she asked for my younger brother."

It suddenly seemed very quiet to Mac.
My younger brother.
As far as any of them knew, Del was by far the youngest. "Was it Shannon? Or Verne?"

Del gave him a strange look. "Who is Verne?"

"Your brother with the doctorate in agriculture."

Del laughed. "His name has an 'l,' not an 'n.' But yeah, she asked for Vyrl. He was the perfect match. He never messed around with anyone. Except you know what? He had been in love with this girl Lily practically since they were born. When they told him about the betrothal, he and Lily ran off and got married. Here they all thought I was the messed-up one, but it was Vyrl who screwed up their plans."

Mac stared at him. It couldn't be. He and Fitz
couldn't
be right. He spoke in a slow voice. "Vyrl is a great-grandfather."

Del's smile faded as he realized what he had said. For a moment he just looked at Mac. Then he walked to a window in the far wall. He stood staring out at the sky, silhouetted against the blue expanse with its streamers of clouds.

"If Havyrl Valdoria is your younger brother," Mac said, "you had to have been born at least seventy years ago."

Del spoke dully. "Seventy-one."

"What happened?"

"I told you." He turned around. "I was in a cryogenic womb."

"For
forty-five
years?"

"Yes," he said flatly. "For forty-five years."

"The technology to do that didn't exist that long ago."

"That's right." He spoke in clipped sentences, as if he were another person separate from what he was describing. "It was a race. Could they advance the tech fast enough before my current womb decayed? They couldn't revive me until science advanced enough to keep me alive, but if they kept me in too long, the cryo would fail." He took a shaky breath. "I balanced on that edge for nearly half a century."

"Good Lord," Mac said. "It's a miracle you survived."

Del lifted his hands, then dropped them. "Do you know what it's like to wake up and not remember how to talk? To walk? To count or laugh or say your name? To discover everyone you know has lived decades while no time went by for you?" His voice cracked. "I had to relearn almost everything. But I could still sing. It's what kept me going."

"It's incredible." Mac felt like a bastard for bringing it up. "I'm sorry. I know it was private."

"It's all right," Del said, surprisingly gentle. "If I didn't want you to tell General McLane, I wouldn't tell you. We both know how this works. You've been straight with me from the start." He came back over, looking at Mac now instead of acting as if some random point on the desk fascinated him. "You were going to talk to me about my finances, right?" He gave a rueful smile. "So I can stop being a dissipated playboy."

Mac let out a breath, then waved Del back to his chair. "Have a seat. Let's get started."

X: Red and Blue

Prime-Nova released "Sapphire Clouds" as Del's first single. It debuted on the North American chart for holo-rock at number three hundred and fifty-seven. The second week, it jumped to two hundred and ninety-four. It climbed more slowly after that.

Jud waxed philosophical about the matter. "Okay, it's not the biggest smash ever to hit the mesh. But right now African-Andromeda fusion music is bigger than rock. Besides, you're getting a lot of play around here. And the undercity critics love you."

They were sprawled in beanbag chairs in Jud's Baltimore apartment, where Del had been living since General McLane okayed his move off the base. Del regarded Jud dourly. His roommate knew perfectly well that acts with the backing of a super conglomerate like Prime-Nova were supposed to do better. Hell, twenty-five years ago, Mind Mix's first release had debuted in the top ten.

"I've learned a lot of new English words lately," Del told him. "Like flop. Plummet. Mesh-meat."

"Oh, stop." Jud laughed as he practiced a morph-guitar that flexed and bent under his touch. "Your song isn't mesh-meat. It's been on the charts for four weeks, and you've almost reached the top two hundred."

"Well, gosh," Del said. "That's a real rocket taking off." He fell back in his beanbag. Except for a console against one wall, the fat cushions were the only furniture. They were wicked smart beanbags, though. They played music and bathed him in holographic ripples of color according to how they interpreted his mood. They even communicated with the wall panels, coordinating their displays. Right now, the music was barely audible and the lights muted, a pale wash of blue that matched his bad mood.

" 'Sapphire Clouds' is still climbing," Jud said, playing a rill of high notes on his guitar. "I checked this morning. It's one hundred and six in D.C. And it's fifty-four on the holo-rock singles chart for northern Baltimore."

"Well, hey," Del said. "I'll bet it could hit number one on the chart for undercity singles written by offworld farm boys who live in Northern Baltimore and have hinges in their hands." He held up his hand and folded it along the hinge, wiggling his fingers at Jud.

"That is so weird," Jud said.

Del lowered his arm. "I'm surprised no one notices."

"Sure they do." Jud shrugged. "It doesn't show when you're holding a mike, though."

"Mic."

"That's what I said." Jud coaxed a rumble from the morphing strings on his guitar, which had gone fat and shiny, deepening the pitch.

"But you had the wrong spelling, I bet." Del felt immensely pleased with himself for learning the difference. It was one of the few words he could spell. "It's m-i-c. From microphone. That was an early form of a michael."

Jud smiled. "You're certainly up on your trivia."

A chime came from the console across the room.

"It's for you," Jud said.

"How do you know that?" Del asked.

"Because if it were for me," Jud said, "I would have to go over there. Which requires energy. So obviously it's not for me."

Del didn't intend to get up, either. "You don't have to go over there."

"I do if I don't want you listening," Jud grumbled.

"Put an audio-comm in your ear."