Diamond Star (44 page)

"No!" Del stared at them in undisguised disbelief. "I refuse to live like a recluse. How is this any different than my being a Ruby prince in the Imperial Court?"

"I don't know about the Imperial Court," Mac said. "But Del, greetings, you
are
a Ruby prince." He regarded the grumpy youth with frustration. "Pretending you aren't won't make it go away."

Del crossed his arms and looked daggers at them, first Mac, then Cameron, then Tyra, then for good measure at the pilot, who couldn't see because he was paying attention to his flying.

"This drills," Del said.

Tyra glanced at Mac. "He's learned a lot of English."

"Too well," Mac said. Although Tyra hadn't smiled, he had the impression she found Del funny rather than aggravating. Well, good for her. She hadn't been around long enough to want to strangle him. If Mac didn't have nanos protecting his stomach lining, he would have an ulcer.

Del continued to bedevil Cameron about Anne. Cameron pretended to have no idea what Del meant, which only spurred Del to try provoking him more. Although Tyra hardly seemed to listen, Mac had no doubt she was taking it all in, analyzing, developing who knew what models. Jagernauts had more extensive node systems in their brains than most anyone else alive.

He just hoped she didn't end up needing it all to defend Del.

* * *

Ricki spent the day working with Jenny Summerland on her new virt. After Jenny left, Ricki stayed in her office, hunched over a console, listening to one of the songs. She didn't like the whine of the morpher.

"You're here late," a man said behind her.

Ricki froze. She would know that sensual voice anywhere. She gritted her teeth and kept working.

"Ricki, don't." Del pulled over a chair and sat next to her. "Talk to me."

She looked up with her most innocent expression. "Talk?" she asked sweetly. "Do you do that? I thought you just fucked."

Del jerked as if she had hit him. "That was low." He spoke with difficulty. "You left. In the morning. After my party in Chicago."

She tensed, remembering that night. Such a great night. And then he had ruined it all with crazy Delilah in her pink lace. "I have a job. I had to be back." Frustrated, she said, "You wake up at noon, Del. I don't have that luxury."

Ricki couldn't tell him the rest, that if she stayed with him in the morning, she left herself vulnerable. He would see her asleep and helpless. She still remembered her mother crying the morning after her father had deserted them. How the hell could her mother have done the same thing a few years later, leaving her own
daughter
to fend for herself? Ricki should have gone into foster care, but she had run away. God only knew what would have happened if that musician hadn't taken her in. He had been her first and--until Del--her only rock singer. No way would she leave herself open to being deserted and crushed again, especially with a damn singer who jumped from woman to woman.

Del was watching her oddly, as if he were straining to hear a barely heard conversation. He spoke softly. "I won't hurt you again. I swear it. Give me a chance."

She couldn't relent. He scared the hell out of her, and being angry was easier than admitting how she felt. "To do what? Let me watch you drill your way across America? Not a chance, sweetheart."

"Ricki, I'm sorry. I really am." He took her hand. "I mean it. No more screwing around. No more Delilahs or Kendras or Talias."

She pulled her hand away. "I'm sure the next one will have a different name."

"I'm a reformed man."

"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. Let me prove it to you." He regarded her with those huge, heartbreaker eyes of his. "I'll take you to dinner. And afterward I'll take you to the fanciest hotel in D.C."

"On whose salary?" she asked curiously. She knew how much money Del had; she had arranged his loan herself, and he hadn't been paid yet for the next royalty period.

"I saved up." He had that boyish look that always weakened her resolve. Damn, he was good-looking. It wasn't fair.

"I'm busy," Ricki said.

"You have to eat." He recaptured her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Come with me. I miss you."

Ricki wanted to refuse. She intended to. But somehow instead she said, "You'd take me to any hotel I picked?"

"The fanciest you want. No limit."

"Does it have to be in D.C.?"

He brushed her knuckle down his cheek. "Anywhere you want, love, is fine by me."

Don't call me love,
she thought. Aloud, she said, "I want to go to the Royal Lunar Suites. That's on the Moon, babe." It was the most exorbitant hotel in the solar system, arguably among the Allied Worlds.

Del's gaze never wavered. "All right."

She couldn't help but smile. "Oh, Del. You could never even get a reservation there, let alone afford a suite."

"Claude?" he said.

Ricki peered at him. "What did you call me?"

A man's voice came out of Del's wrist-mesh. "Here."

"Please arrange a reservation for myself and Miss Varento at the Royal Lunar Suites. We'll take the Express Shuttle up, so the Lunar should expect us in about twelve hours. Mac can give you the info for my accounts."

"I'll contact Mister Tyler," Claude said.

"Is that your EI?" Ricki asked.

"That's right." Del slid his hand behind her head and drew her closer, his lips coming toward hers.

"Oh no, you don't." Ricki pulled away. "You can't get reservations at the Lunar. Even if you could afford it, they wouldn't have a suite available in just twelve hours."

"We'll see." Del tugged her back and kissed her, his lips warm against hers.

Ricki instinctively started to relax into the kiss, but she caught herself in time. Putting her palms against his shoulders, she pushed him back. "Stop playing with me."

"I'm not," he murmured, his lashes half lowered.

When he looked at her that way, her good sense went away. "I know a Thai place not far from here. Let's go there." She gave him a stern look. "But you go home afterward. Without me."

Del trailed his finger down her cheek. "If Claude sets up a reservation for us at the Lunar, will you come?"

"Sure," Ricki said with a smile. "Why not?"

"Good," Del murmured. "Because the shuttle to the Moon leaves at midnight."

This isn't possible.
Ricki gazed at the view screen in the lounge of the Express Shuttle. A diamond-dust limo was hovering into the cavernous bay where the ship had just docked.

"That can't be your limo," Ricki said.

Next to her, Del stretched his arms. "It's not."

She still couldn't believe they were on the Moon. Where had he found the money for the exorbitant Express Shuttle tickets? They had slept during most of the flight, so she might have wondered if they had really left Earth, except they had been in free fall almost the whole time.

"I didn't think it was yours," she said.

Del yawned. "I rented it."

Ricki just smiled. He couldn't have rented it. She didn't really believe he had a reservation at the Lunar, either, but who knew. Maybe his name had become well enough known that they gave him a suite from a cancellation. If the reservations officer were human and female, that could explain a lot. Del might have taken another loan against the royalties he'd receive in a few months. With "Diamond Star" on top of the charts and
The Jewels Suite
climbing back up, he would see a good chunk of money. It bothered her to think he might have blown his earnings on this trip because of a suggestion she had never expected him to take seriously.

When the ship announced they were free to disembark, they stood up. Ricki hadn't paid attention to the other three passengers in the lounge since she had slept during the trip. They were business types in expensive jumpsuits, silver or blue, two men and a woman. The woman was tall, with aquiline features and dark hair brushing her shoulders. Ricki half expected to see the ubiquitous Cameron. She had even thought she glimpsed him earlier with the ship's crew. But that was absurd. Cameron was a roadie, not a crewman.

The passengers had space suits available to them, but travel to the Moon was so mundane, no one donned suits except in the rare emergency. Del was wearing a pair of old mesh-jeans, though at least these didn't have rips. His blue pullover was soft and worn. He looked more like a high school boy than someone wealthy enough to afford two berths on the elite Express. Ricki hadn't changed her work clothes; she had on a green jumpsuit with a gold belt, a nice outfit, sure, but nothing fancy. The two of them hardly looked like they belonged in a limo.

As soon as Ricki took a step, she stumbled. No gravity! No, that wasn't true. She had a little bit of weight. During the trip, she had been strapped in, so the free fall hadn't affected her, other than when her hair floated into her face and woke her up. Now she felt as if she were drifting out of the lounge.

They followed the two men, with the woman behind them. Ricki half-floated, half-walked down the ramp to the corrugated deck of the docking bay. Del came to her side, his steps languid.

"Think how high I could jump if I did a show here," Del said.

Hey. That was a thought. "Maybe we could set one up." She slanted a look at him. "But you already jump ridiculously high."

"That's because the gravity on Earth is so low." He gave the barest jump and floated into the air. "I weigh almost twenty percent more on my world than on Earth." He came down so gently, his sports shoes made no sound. "My muscles are adapted to that."

"Huh." It was an odd idea, that Earth had "low" gravity.

Del stopped at the bottom of the ramp. The execs kept going, and Ricki fully expected one of them to meet the limo. But they went by it, while the limo floated up to her and Del. Silently. Impressive for a hover vehicle, especially such a long one. It settled onto the deck, and a hatch irised open on the driver's side. A molecular airlock. Good Lord. It meant they could survive in the limo even outside on the airless Moon.

A man in a sleek black jumpsuit stepped out and bowed to them.
Bowed.
This was getting bizarre. His fingertip glowed with a laser-light as he touched his belt. An airlock in the middle of the limo immediately opened. Even stranger, Del inclined his head to the man as if he had done this sort of thing all his life.

Del let her enter the car first. As he slid in behind her, the driver resumed his seat up front and the airlocks closed. The limo lifted off, deliciously smooth, and hovered across the docking bay.

Okay, this is definitely weird,
Ricki thought. The black leather seats had gold trim. Real gold. A silver stand in front of them with diamonds inset in its rim held ice and a bottle of champagne. And look at that; a bed with velvet covers waited behind their seat. My goodness, wasn't Del optimistic.

Del settled back and put his arm around her shoulders. "Do you like it?"

"It's all right." She didn't say what she thought, that even Prime-Nova top execs didn't take this level of luxury for granted. Yet Del didn't even
blink.

Del laughed softly. "You like it, Ricki. Admit it."

She slanted him a look. "What, you can read my mind?"

"Not your mind. But your moods, yes, especially when you let down your barriers." He even said it with a straight face.

"Uh, yeah. Right." Had he gone wonko? Next thing she knew, he would be claiming to be a telepath, or whatever the Skolians called their supposed mind readers.

She pulled the bottle of champagne out of the ice. "Peking Gold, 2105." She glanced at Del. "I've seen faked bottles of the aged champagnes before, but usually you can tell it's phony. This is the best imitation I've seen."

"It's not an imitation," Del said. "At least, it had better not be. I told them to give me the best that they had."

Ricki laughed. "Told who?"

"The limo company."

"You told them." She couldn't figure this out. "You, who can't afford to pay your rent, ordered a bottle of champagne that costs thousands of dollars."

His gaze slipped away from her. "I don't know what it cost." He ran his finger around the rim of the bucket.

"You didn't ask?"

"No." He wouldn't meet her gaze.

Unease swept over Ricki, and she put the bottle back in the bucket. "Del, how did you get all this?" She took his chin and turned his head so he had to look at her. "If you're into some illegal biz, tell me. We'll get you out of it."

His strain disappeared, and he laughed. "Good gods, Ricki. I'm not in trouble."

"Why do you always say that? It makes no sense."

"Say what?" His alarmingly sexy smile flashed. "That I've done nothing illegal? I'm really not such a bad boy, you know."

"Yes, you are. But that wasn't what I meant." She mimicked his deep voice. " 'Good gods.' You say it all the time. Never 'Good Lord' or 'Oh, my God.' It's always plural."

"Oh. That." He tried to look nonchalant. "We have a whole pantheon where I come from."

"Lyshriol." She crossed her arms. Despite what he claimed, he had to be in trouble. Your typical farm boy wouldn't even know how to talk to the driver of this limo, let alone rent it. "This planet I've never heard of, that
no
record exists of, and oh gosh, you don't want me to mention it in any public bio. I wonder why."

"It exists."

She studied his face, trying to understand his reaction. He seemed . . . curious, of all things. She would have expected him to be nervous if he were in trouble. He did seem scared, but of her more than anything else. Well, he
should
be scared. He was pissing her off. "Fine. Take me to Lyshriol. Let me see this supposed world of yours."

He shifted his weight. "I can't."

"I didn't think so."

"It's not what you think, Ricki. It's real." His gaze never wavered. "You just know it by a different name."

"Is that so?" She had never been one to believe eyebrows really could arch, but she could actually feel hers doing it. "What might that be?"

He met her gaze squarely. And said, "Skyfall."

XIX: A Desolate Landscape

Ricki wanted to sock him. Skyfall. Did he think she was that stupid?