Del raised an eyebrow. "I thought medical reports here were confidential unless the patient approved their release."
"They are." Mac regarded him steadily. "I would never suggest they would try to circumvent that confidentiality."
Right. It seemed he couldn't get away from people who wanted to interfere in his life. "Great," he muttered.
"It's up to you," Mac said. "If you still want to do this, given that, I'll help you find a physician Prime-Nova will accept."
"You don't have to tell General McLane I went to a doctor."
Mac spoke quietly. "I have to. I'm sorry."
His answer didn't surprise Del. He didn't always like what Mac had to say, but Del had never doubted his honesty.
"I still want to do it," Del said. The contract was too important to give up just because the Allied military might discover his medical history was a disaster.
"All right." Mac took a breath. "And Del."
He regarded Mac warily. "Yes?"
"ASC wants to put a tracker in your body."
"Hell, no!"
"It's for your safety."
"No!"
"They aren't going to relent on this."
Del gritted his teeth until it hurt. He knew they would keep at him about it, wearing him down with arguments. He made himself stop gnashing his teeth and forced out the words. "What if I give you the codes to the one the Skolian military put in me?"
Mac looked relieved. "That would be fine." He still seemed uncomfortable, though.
"There's more?" Del asked.
Mac cleared his throat. "You have to comm your family."
Del smacked his palm on the console. "Prime-Nova can't insist on that if I prove I'm an adult even by their ridiculous standards."
"It isn't Prime-Nova who insists. It's Fitz McLane."
Del scowled at him. "General McLane can go to hell."
"If you don't contact your family," Mac said, "he'll do it using official military channels."
"What the blazes for? It's my life. That's none of his business."
"It's not just your life." Mac took a breath. "If you don't tell your family that you're staying here of your own choice, the tension between your people and ours will continue to escalate."
He hated knowing Mac was right. "Well, damn."
"Del."
"I'll do it. But I won't tell them about the music contract." Del willed him to understand. "Mac, give me your word none of you will tell them, okay? If I fail here, I don't want my family to know." It would reaffirm how little they thought of him.
Mac didn't look surprised. "You have my word. And I think McLane will be fine with it. But, Del, we'll only remain silent if we feel it doesn't endanger you."
"Fair enough." Del glanced with longing at his breakfast, then turned back to Mac. "And you'll send me those vids?"
"Right away. Come by my office after you look at them."
"All right. See you then."
After they finished the call, Del drenched the remainder of his breakfast in syrup and dug in. He didn't see why Mac thought this concert thing was so complicated. He could have an hour-long show in a week. Either people liked his songs or not; he didn't see how special effects would matter. Of course, Mac would also worry about security. Del suspected the biggest danger was that some irate listener would throw him off the stage to shut him up.
"It's an excuse to cover bad singing!" Del glared at Mac. They were standing in the middle of Mac's office in downtown D.C. A holo-vid of Mort's Metronomes was going on all around Del, the blue-haired figures of light dancing past and through him.
Mac stood by his desk and felt a headache coming on. The vids were supposed to show Del how much preparation he needed, not inspire him to waltz in here with Jud Taborian and announce the songs were horse manure. Jud was leaning against a console, dark and lanky, his black dreadlocks threaded with red beads, his mesh-tech ticker in one hand. Cameron, Del's Marine bodyguard, had stayed by the wall, so unobtrusive Mac almost forgot he was there.
"Listen to this," Del said. He nodded to Jud, who fooled with his ticker. The holos of Mort's boring metronomes continued to play, but the audio went off, leaving four young men gyrating while pyrotechnics blasted around them, flashes of lightning and blasts of primary colors. Acrobats flipped in the background. It all looked a little sleazy without the sound.
"Now just put in the track of Mort singing," Del said to Jud.
"Hey!" Mac told Jud. "You aren't supposed to tamper with the original recording."
Jud regarded him innocently. "Can't imagine how it happened."
Mac frowned at him, and then at Del. Just what he needed, a couple of undercity punks breaking copyright laws in his office.
Mort James, the front man of the group, resumed singing. Without the instrumentals, backup singers, and other effects, he had only his voice to carry the vid. He did manage to keep the tune, but just barely, and his reedy voice was painful to hear.
Del stood in the midst of the holos and watched Mac defiantly. "He's off pitch by at least half a step in almost every line. He doesn't breathe right, so he runs out of steam. Listen to how thin that sounds! The nasal quality is awful. He yells because he can't hit the high notes. And that's after they fixed his voice. I don't even want to imagine what it was before."
"That's not the point," Mac began.
"I don't need a show!" Del said. "I'm no great singer, but I could do circles around these artists."
Mac wanted to shake him. "You have to entertain your public. They want the fireworks. If you just stand there and sing, you'll get terrible reviews."
Del put his hands on his hips. "How do you know? Has anyone ever done it?"
"Of course not," Mac said.
"Uh, actually, that's how people used to do it all the time," Jud said. "Back when rock first started."
Mac gave him an exasperated look. "Contrary to what the undercity may think, we aren't living two hundred years ago. Unless you have a time machine, you have to perform now, not in some primitive, barbaric rock concert."
Del waved his hand at the vid where Mort the manic metronome was twirling around, and Jud mercifully silenced it. "You're right, I can't have a show like this in a week. But I can sing, Mac, and that's what I'm going to do."
Mac wasn't a superstitious man, but he couldn't help wondering what terrible thing he had done in his life, that the cosmos decided to punish him by sending this intransigent princeling, who seemed determined to crash his fledgling career before it began. "Del, listen. Trust me. I've been in this business a long time. If you do what you've suggested, you'll plummet on stage."
Del crossed his arms. "I'm going on. With a live band."
"Fine," Mac said. "And I assume you have a band that will be ready in one week?"
Del hesitated. "Tabor can help me find it."
Oh, well, that was just great. Ricki would have a fit if Del filled his show with undercity artists doing controversial, experimental noise. "I'll find musicians for you."
"You have a problem with me?" Jud asked. He sounded curious rather than offended.
Mac resisted the urge to tell Jud what he thought of undercity artists. "I've access to more people in the business." Then, because he liked Jud more than he had expected, he added, "Let me know if you have any recommendations."
"Sure," Jud said amiably.
Del glanced at Jud. "I'll talk to you tonight, all right?"
"Okay." Jud took the hint. "See you."
After Jud left the office, Cameron glanced at Mac with a questioning look. When Mac nodded, Cameron stepped out of the room. Mac knew he would stay just outside, monitoring Del, but this would give Del a little more privacy. Del watched them with the look of a condemned man.
"You all right?" Mac asked when he and Del were alone.
Del nodded. "Can you set up the comm link for me?"
"I can get you on either a military or commercial net," Mac said. "If you go military, it'll be free. If you go commercial, you hav
e to pay, but won't be as easy for ASC to eavesdrop."
Del spoke wryly. "As easy?"
"They'll still try," Mac admitted.
"The only way I can pay for offworld access is through my Ruby accounts," Del said. "And I can't reach those without getting on the nets."
"You could go military for that, then commercial for the rest."
Del shrugged with forced nonchalance. "What the hell. I'll go military for it all. What does it matter? General McLane will need to know what I said anyway. I might as well make it easy for him to listen."
Mac hated this, the way everyone sought to control this young man who had never bothered anyone, never caused trouble, never done anything except have a failure of judgment with a horrendous result. He wished everyone would let Del be, including his family, who seemed unable to accept that he didn't want the life they expected for him. He even wished Del could sing the way he liked, without worrying about politics or special effects or his heredity.
Mac set up the console so Del could use the comm, then offered Del the seat. As Del sat down, Mac asked, "Would you like me to leave?"
"No. Stay." Del looked up at him. "I could use the moral support." He turned and regarded the blank console screen uncertainly. "Claude?"
"Hello, Del," a male voice said.
Del took a breath. "I need a link to the Kyle-mesh."
"I'm sorry," Claude said. "But you need Skolian permission to use their Kyle network."
"My family created the Kyle-mesh," Del said. "I can give you access codes."
After a pause, Claude said, "I don't have contact with any node that would let you access the network."
"You just need to find a telop," Del said.
"How?" Claude asked.
Del looked up at Mac. "Why can't it do this?"
Mac rubbed the aching muscles in his neck. "Earth doesn't have many links to the Kyle-mesh. It's hard to get permission from your people to use it." He came over to the console. "Claude, contact General McLane's office. With his okay, Allied Space Command can set up the link."
"I'm paging him," Claude said.
While they waited, Mac regarded Del curiously. "You said 'telop.' That means telepathic operator, doesn't it?"
Del looked up at him. "That's right."
"Can't you act as a telop?"
"I don't have the training."
"But you're a full psion, aren't you?" Mac shifted his weight, self-conscious. "Both an empath and a telepath, right?"
Del shrugged. "If you're asking, do I know what you're thinking, the answer is no."
"But you can tell what I'm feeling."
"To some extent. You're not a psion, so it's harder." Del paused. "You're curious. About me."
Mac laughed. "You don't need empathy to know that."
Del spoke awkwardly. "Unless your mood is intense, I have to lower my mental defenses to sense anything more."
"Is it difficult? To lower your defenses, I mean."
It was a moment before Del answered. "It's like living without a skin. It hurts." He stared at the console, though he didn't seem to be looking at anything. After a moment, he spoke again. "You're nervous about something. Me, I think. You also feel . . . fatherly toward someone." Lifting his gaze to Mac, he said, "Toward me? Is that right?"
Good Lord. Mac hadn't expected Del to pick that up. He hesitated, then said, "I'm nervous I'll push too hard with my questions and put you off." Gently he added, "And you do remind me of my son. In a good way."
A blush touched Del's face. "Thanks." Then he smiled. "I got the 'Good Lord,' too."
"Those actual words?"
"Pretty clearly. That's rare, though." Del looked away from him. "I have to raise my barriers now. I can't let them down for long. And I can only do it around people I trust."
Mac's voice quieted. "Thank you."
After a moment, when neither of them said anything more, Claude spoke again. "Would you like to begin the comm?"
Del glanced at the console with a start. "Are you ready?"
"I have a telop in the Skolian embassy who can link to the Kyle-mesh. Do you have codes for the person you're contacting?"
Del took a deep breath, then nodded and gave Claude a series of numbers. "The telop will need to verify my retinal patterns, fingerprints, and voice."
"I've transferred your voice patterns," Claude said. "Prepare for retinal scan." As Del leaned over the console, a light played over his eyes. Then Claude said, "Place your hands on the monitor." When Del splayed his palms on the screen, Claude said, "Fingerprints verified."
Another voice came on, speaking in Skolian Flag. "Codes accepted. I'm putting you through."
"That's it?" Mac asked, stunned. When anyone spoke with a member of Del's family through official channels, it took hours to go through the layers of security and protocol.
Del gazed at the screen, avoiding Mac's eyes. "It's my private channel to the Sunrise Palace on the planet Parthonia."
"That's the capital world of the Imperialate, isn't it?"
"Yes. My mother is there for an Assembly session."
"Ah." Mac didn't know what else to say or do, except step back, so he wouldn't intrude on the conversation. Del's mother would still know another person was in the room, but he hoped it would be less intrusive without him leaning over Del.
The flat screen in front of Del cleared to show a woman at a console. It wasn't Del's mother; this woman had black hair with a dusting of grey. The delicate bone structure to her face gave her a fragile appearance. Her skin was so clear, it almost seemed translucent, and her green eyes had a quality of wisdom that made Mac suspect she was far older than she looked. He didn't recognize her, but he had the unsettling feeling he should.
"Del!" The woman smiled. "I can't believe it's you." She spoke in Iotic, an ancient language of the Skolian people. Mac had needed to learn it as part of his job, but it was almost as rare as Latin. Almost. It remained the native tongue of one small group, the Skolian noble Houses, which included the House of Skolia, otherwise known as the Ruby Dynasty. Del's family.
"Aunt Dehya, my greetings," Del said. "I thought this was my mother's channel."
Aunt Dehya? Mac almost fell over. He knew that nickname only because Del had mentioned it before. This woman's real name was Dyhianna Selei Skolia. He was looking at the Ruby Pharaoh, the sovereign who had overthrown her own government and in doing so had become one of the most powerful human beings alive. It was almost impossible to find images of her on the meshes. Known as the Shadow Pharaoh, she existed as a powerful, unseen presence. He had always imagined she must be a towering Amazon, stark and formidable. Not this petite woman. He doubted she was as fragile as she looked; her gaze had a core of steel.
"It is your mother's line," she told Del. "She's in her office, preparing for the Assembly. Shall I get her?"
"I don't want to bother her," Del said quickly. "I can talk to you." He had the look of a youth who hoped to escape a lecture.
The pharaoh smiled, a beautiful expression. "It's good to see you, Del. How are you?"
He actually returned her smile, looking shy. "I'm all right."
"Have they treated you well?"
His more typical scowl returned. "They're always asking questions. Yeah, they've treated me well. They're just innately annoying."
Dehya laughed, her voice like a ripple of water. Mac suspected her amusement came at least in part because she knew General McLane would hear Del's remarks.
"I'm sorry it's taken so long to get you out of there," she said. "But it shouldn't be too much longer."
"Actually," Del said, "I'm free to go. If I want."
"You are?" She sat up straighter. "They've told us nothing."
"Mac Tyler just told me today. I'm going to talk to General McLane later this afternoon."
"Then it's official?" Dehya didn't sound as if she believed it. "They've put up so many roadblocks."
Del squinted at her. "I made myself so annoying, they want to get rid of me."
"Well, see, uh, that's the thing."
She raised an eyebrow. "The 'thing'?"
"I'm not coming home."
The steel came back into her gaze. "What have they—"
"Aunt Dehya, wait! It's my choice."
"And why, pray tell, would it be your choice?"
"It has to do with a, um, woman."
"Oh." That didn't seem to surprise her. "What kind of woman? Someone McLane's people introduced you to?"
"No! She's a musician. I mean, she doesn't play music, she helps people who do."
"And you like her?"
"I'm not sure. I want to find out. And explore the music scene here." Excitement warmed his voice. "You wouldn't believe it! People here compose the most amazing works. Some of it even sounds like what I do."
A smile softened her face. "Which means a lot, yes?"
His posture relaxed. "Yes. It does."
"We'll miss you if you stay."
Del spoke dryly. "Mother will want Imperial Space Command to come haul me back home."
Her voice gentled. "It's because she worries about you."
"I'm great," Del said. "Tell her I send my love. I'll talk to you later."
"Talk to her now," Dehya said. "You've been in custody for weeks. You can't just comm us up, say, 'Oh, I met a woman, I'm staying, talk to you later.' "
Del made an exasperated noise. "Fine. I'll talk to her."
"Don't be angry."
He just shook his head. "So how's the Assembly?"
Mac couldn't believe he was listening to this, the pharaoh talking to her nephew like any other aunt. And here was Del, casually asking about the governing body of their people, a topic every leader from here to the Trader Empire would like to hear her discuss.
Dehya apparently had the same thought. She smiled fondly. "My answer would surely entertain everyone listening to us."
Del flushed. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry."
"Don't apologize," she said. "I'm just glad you're all right." She glanced at her console. "Roca's on. I'm going to switch you." Looking back up, she said, "Be well."
His expression softened. "You too, Aunt Dehya."
The screen turned blue, then cleared to show one of the most famous faces in three empires. She looked like a holo-movie goddess. Even knowing she was over a century in age, Mac couldn't believe she was more than twenty. A glorious mane of golden hair poured over her shoulders and arms, and shimmered like real gold. Her huge eyes were also gold, glistening and radiant. If Del had a few glints to his eyelashes, this woman's sparkled like glitter.
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