Diamond Star

by Catherine Asaro

  "We could just walk to the tent," Del said. "No one will know us."

  "They might," Jud said. "Your face is all over the m-verse."

  "It is?" Del had been on tour since "Diamond Star" rose up the charts. He'd listened to a few reviews, mainly for the novelty of hearing people actually say good things about his work, but the rest of the time he spent in his virts or asleep.

  Except for that night with Ricki. She had stayed after the party—and left him to wake up alone. Again. Why? She said her job kept her busy. Right. He had made himself vulnerable when he admitted how much her leaving bothered him, and he felt as if she had thrown his trust back in his face. He could talk to her again, try to work it out, but he was beginning to wonder if he should. The ups and downs of their relationship drained him.

  "What happened to the security guys?" Mac was saying into the comm. "No, an hour is not good. That's when Del goes on. We have to set up first. Yeah, I'll ask." He glanced at Del and the others. "This is George Morales, the stage manager. He wants to know if you all can get your equipment to the stage from here."

  "We can carry the instruments," Jud said. "That's not the problem." He waved at the milling crowds on the view screens. "If we take our equipment out there, we'll be lucky to get it to the stage. As soon as people see, they'll know we're one of the bands. They might start grabbing our stuff."

  "This drills," Cameron said. "Their security bots should have cleared out this place."

  "It's a freedom festival," Randall said. "You know, no authoritarian control."

  "What authoritarian?" Jud demanded. "The bots are flipping machines."

  Mac gave them a sour look. "Freedom festival is a euphemism for 'license to misbehave.' "

  "Oh, come on," Randall said. "They're just having fun."

  "What happened to the guards they promised?" Cameron asked.

  "They have some big, beefy types," Mac said. "But they need those guys to help the bots protect the performers. People keep rushing the stage, and the bots can't make subtle enough distinctions of who to stop and how." He gave Cameron a wry smile. "So it looks like you're our only big beef."

  The Marine's eyes glinted. "You don't get bigger than me."

  "Oh my," Anne said. "Do tell." Cameron actually cracked a smile at her.

  Mac spoke into his comm. "Morales? The band doesn't think it's safe for their equipment. Yeah. Okay, I'll ask." He glanced at Jud. "They have a Voxerlight III-Beta on the stage. That's the same brand as your morpher, isn't it?"

  "Yeah," Jud said. "But a different model. And it doesn't have my programs."

  "Could you port your files to their Voxer?"

  Jud didn't look thrilled with the idea. "Not unless they can guarantee the files will be protected. No duplication, and I erase it all after we finish."

  Mac relayed the answer to the manager, then told Jud, "Morales says no problem. They do that all the time."

  "I've never practiced on their Voxer," Jud said. "I'll probably make mistakes. Even if I don't, it won't sound exactly the same."

  Mac motioned at the crowds on the view screens. "People aren't paying that much attention. I doubt anyone expects it to sound the same."

  Jud nodded as if accepting a mission. "I'll do it."

  "What stringers do they have?" Randall asked.

  "And drums," Anne said.

  Mac went back and forth with George until they settled on a set of drums for Anne, including smart-skins with AI programming. But they had no stringers Randall felt would work.

  "Some people out there have guitar cases," Jud said. "If you put your stringer in one, you could carry it incognito."

  "In cog what?" Randall said.

  Anne gave a throaty laugh. "Incognito. In disguise."

  Listening to them, Del had a sudden inspiration. He sang softly into his ticker to record the words he couldn't write. "I'm no fair-haired genius hiding in disguise / I'm no golden hero in the blazing skies."

  "Yeah, well, good for you," Randall said. He looked at Mac. "I need a morph engine, too. And that's too heavy to carry."

  "They have a Strato-premier Model Six onstage," Mac said. "Would that work?"

  "Hell, yeah!" Randall sat up straighter. "I'd use a Strato any day."

  "That solves the equipment problems," Bonnie said. She motioned at Del. "Now we have to get him up there." With a smile, she added, "No other model will do."

  Del grinned at her. "I'm irreplaceable."

  Mac considered him. "A lot of people out there have on VR goggles. You can hide your eyes with a pair and put your hair under a cap. If you wear one of my shirts over yours, to make you look bigger, probably no one will recognize you."

  "Sounds good to me," Del said with a laugh. "Incognito."

  "Okay," Mac said. "Here's the plan. Randall, you go first, so if anyone clicks to what we're doing, hopefully you'll already have your stringer up there. Jud, you go with Bonnie and Anne. Cameron and I will bring Del."

  "What, no protection for my stringer?" Randal waved his hand at Del. "I know he's the big name and we're just hired help, but if my piece gets trashed, we got no music."

  "You're not just hired help!" Del turned to Mac. "Send Cameron with him, then have Cameron come back for Anne and Bonnie."

  "Hey," Jud said. "I can protect these lovely women."

  Anne smirked at him. "I'm the one with the black belt in karate, sweets. I could kick your ass from here to Los Angeles."

  Randall snorted. "I'll bet your boyfriend loves it when you talk that way."

  "Does he?" Cameron asked her, suddenly intent.

  She turned her sultry gaze on him. "I don't have a boyfriend."

  "Del can kick," Bonnie said. "I've seen him practicing."

  "I have, too," Anne said, glancing at Del. "The moves are different, though. Do you have a black belt?"

  Perplexed, Del tapped his belt. "Yeah, this one."

  Jud sighed. "Del, sometimes you have so little clue."

  Mac spoke firmly. "No tossing people around, Del, unless you're in real danger."

  Exasperated, Del answered, "I never said I'd toss anyone."

  "Come on," Randall said. "Let's go."

  Cameron eased open the side door, and he and Randall jumped down. No one paid attention. Randall held his stringer case between his body and Cameron as they headed for the pavilion. People were waiting for them at the entrance, and the air there shimmered as Cameron and Randall ducked inside.

  Within moments, Cameron ambled out again. For some bizarre reason, he wandered around. Then Del realized that if he just strode back, it could draw attention; this way, no one noticed as he gradually drifted toward the van.

  Anne, Bonnie, and Jud stepped out next, laughing together like any other festivalgoers. Del watched them on the screen. He didn't realize Cameron had slipped into the van until he looked up and saw his guard standing by his seat, bending his head to fit under the roof.

  "Let's go," Del said. He felt like they were on their own covert operation. Mission Rock Festival. Hah! His Imperator brother would have a fit.

  Del tucked his hair under a green cap and donned the goggles. Everything turned blue, like the lenses. Mac carried the sack with Del's clothes for the concert, and Cameron opened the door. As they stepped into the late afternoon sunlight, Del inhaled the fresh air. Jud claimed that long ago the people of Earth had almost destroyed the atmosphere with pollution. They must have cleaned it up, because it smelled wonderful, and right, appealing to him at some instinctual level.

  "Nice day," Cameron said.

  "Yeah." Del watched the crowd as he and Cameron headed for the tent. Everyone was blue.

  A woman with blue-blond hair peered at him. "Aren't you Del Arden?"

  Damn. How could she tell? "No," Del said. Cameron moved between him and the woman.

  A man on Del's other side said, "Hey! It is him."

  "Can't be," a kid said. "Arden isn't playing the festival."

  Del shot Mac an alarmed look, then realized no one cou
ld see his eyes behind the goggles.

  Someone pushed Mac. At the same time, the woman who had first spoken stepped past Cameron. As the Marine gently caught her arm, someone behind Del dragged his goggles around his neck and pulled at his cap. Flustered, Del grabbed the cap. He was too late; his hair fell out in its distinctive spill of curls.

  "It's Del Arden," someone said. "Look! Over here!"

  The people pressed closer. Cameron loomed at Del's side, holding his arm, and Mac took Del's other arm.

  "Del, we love you," a woman called.

  Del grinned at her. "Hey, I love you, too."

  Another woman grabbed his hair. While Cameron fended her off, someone yanked Del's shirt, then let go when it didn't rip. Someone else shoved at Mac, and he swore as he stumbled.

  Del was getting flustered, as more people tugged his clothes. The crowd stretched everywhere, rumbling. Someone yelled, but they were too far away to make out words. Excitement rolled over the throng, and the smell of cooking meat assaulted Del's senses. Then a woman pulled him to the side and kissed him, her lips soft on his cheek. He didn't know whether to kiss her back or run. Cameron hustled him away, but they had lost Mac. Looking around, Del glimpsed his manager a few paces back. The older man was flushed, and Del worried someone might knock him over.

  Someone dragged Del away from Cameron. Several someones. Four women, with spiky hair and pretty faces. They were running their hands through Del's curls, which he would have liked, except everything was jagged and confused and happening too fast. One kissed him, pressing her lips against his. Del lost his balance and started to fall. More people pushed in, and for one dizzying moment he thought he was going down under the crush of their feet.

  Cameron heaved him back up. "Move aside," the Marine barked at everyone. "Let him through."

  The tent loomed in front of them, its entrance shimmering. A guard motioned them in, his gaze darting to the crowd. Then Del was inside and everything went quiet, the chaos muted. A thump came from outside, but no one followed them. He realized then that the shimmer he kept seeing was a molecular airlock around the tent. From school, he vaguely remembered the airlock was something called a "lipid membrane," with a variable permeability. Del hadn't learned the biochemistry that well, but he understood the result; you could tune the membrane to be leaky or watertight to many things, including air—or people.

  "Hey!" Jud said as they all gathered around Del. "You okay?"

  "I'm fine!" Del said, laughing. "Those people are crazy, though. Did you see those girls?" He looked around behind him. "Mac got pushed—oh! There you are." Mac was coming toward him, disheveled but otherwise fine.

  Anne let out a breath. "That was some gauntlet."

  "I've seen people line up for autographs," Jud said. "But never anything like the way they were grabbing you."

  "You all right?" Mac asked Del as he came up to them.

  "Sure." Del felt queasy, but it was because people had been shoving Mac, not him. "You're the one I was worried about."

  "I'm fine," Mac assured him. "That was bizarre, though."

  "They like him," Anne said. Though she smiled, she looked as uneasy as Del felt. "A lot."

  Del had no objection to people liking him. But if it meant he would be trampled, he could do with a little less friendship.

  Mac stood in the darkened wings of the stage, watching Del. Despite the short notice, the gauntlet an hour ago, and unfamiliar instruments for the band, it was Del's best concert yet. Instead of drowning in empathic stage fright, he embraced the effect, amplifying the audience's excitement. Mac suspected that many performers who were considered "magnetic" did something similar, giving back emotions they picked up. Del strode across the stage, wailing in his magnificent baritone, his voice soaring. He stopped at the front and knelt down, crooning to a woman:

  Angel, be my diamond star

  Before my darkness goes too far

  Splinter through my endless night

  Lightening my darkling sight

  Why your darkness? Mac had always wondered who Del was singing to in "Diamond Star."

  When Del finished, he shouted to the audience. "Thank you all for coming. You've been great!"

  A roar surged from the crowd overflowing the meadows in this former industrial complex outside Chicago, which over the centuries had softened into a luxuriant parkland. People flattened the grass, camping out, picnicking, playing sports, dancing. Most could only hear the music through the globes that whirred and spun everywhere.

  The audience applauded, cheered, and stamped as the band left the stage. Mac stood with the vibration of those pounding feet shuddering through him and wished he didn't feel as if they were coming to trample the young man who stirred up all that fervor.

  Del and Jud came over to him. "Hey," Del said, smiling. "I think they liked it."

  Mac smiled. "You're into understatement tonight." It pleased him to see Del so calm despite the huge audience.

  "It's so hard to believe this is happening." Del stared at the people, gazing past the light amplifiers that hid him from the crowd. Jud stood at his side, a wordless support. They made a good team, Jud as the musical genius who brought Del's songs alive.

  The pounding increased, and people waved mesh screens over their heads, thousands at once, until a sea of glittering light rippled around the stage. Anne and Randall came over to Del, their faces flushed, and Cameron stood nearby, looming and silent.

  "We better do the encore," Anne said with a husky laugh. "Before they shake down the stage."

  Del grinned. "Let's go!"

  They ran back out, and the audience screamed. So many. Mac wondered what incredible force rose out of the raw, driving soul of rock, that it could bring six hundred thousand people together with such energy. Del had no idea of the power he wielded.

  Mac hoped he never found out.

  XIV: The Star Road

  "What's this?" Anne asked. She was relaxing on the hotel couch, her long legs stretched across a table in front of it while she looked through a holofile of Del's songs. " 'Carnelians'? That sounds like part of The Jewels Suite."

  "It was," Del said as he sank into an absurdly expensive armchair. Randall stood at the bar, pouring himself a drink. Jud was working on the console near the window, with holos of musical notes floating in the air.

  Anne sang the first verse of "Carnelians":

  You dehumanized us; your critics, they died

  You answered defiance with massive genocide

  Hunt us as your prey, assault, and enslave

  Force us bound to stay, for pleasures that you crave

  Randall wandered over. "That's strong stuff."

  Del shifted uneasily. "Mac said it was too political."

  Jud glanced up at them. "What's it about?"

  Del knew if he said the Trader Aristos, they'd ask questions he didn't want to answer. So he just said, "Oppression, I suppose."

  "This isn't your usual stuff." Anne continued singing:

  They strangled our summers, your Carnelian Sons

  You anguished the mothers, in your war of suns

  With a heart that freezes, you shattered my kin

  You thought you were leaving no one who could win

  She flipped through more of the holofile. "You have two versions here with different music."

  "It's not finished," Del said. He wished she would put it away. Before he could say anything more, though, the door hummed.

  "Who's that?" Randall asked. He downed the rest of his ouzo.

  Jud switched his console to a view of the entryway. A group of gorgeous people in glimmer-glam clothes stood outside, including Ricki.

  Del sat up straighter. "So let them in."

  The door opened, and the sleek crowd swept inside: Mac, Ricki, Staver Aunchild, and several execs from Prime-Nova.

  "Hey, babe." Ricki swayed over, dynamite in a clingy blue dress that covered her from neck to knee and yet somehow made her look as if she was wearing nothing.

&nbs
p; "Hey," Del said. He was still angry at her, but he missed her, too. In his youth, he would have rebuffed her to avoid dealing with his tangled emotions, but he couldn't do that anymore. Since they couldn't talk about it now, either, he just watched her. When she leaned over him, he grabbed her around the waist and yanked her into his lap. He no longer cared what people thought about them.

  "Stop that," she murmured, kissing him, her lips warm against his. When he tried to pull her closer, she slipped out of his lap and onto a couch next to him.

  Conversation swirled as people settled into seats or went to the bar. Ricki called someone over to give Del a drink, and soon he had a gin and tonic. He set it on the table by his chair.

  "I don't see your point," Staver said. He was talking to one of the Prime-Nova execs, a man named Orin something. "So what if the Trader Empire has no Kyle technology. That doesn't make them any less despicable."

  Del blinked. It was strange to hear an argument about the Traders here, in his protected circle of friends on Earth.

  "How's the tour?" Ricki asked Del, sipping her drink.

  "It's good," Del said, half his attention on her and half on the argument between Staver and the exec.

  Ricki followed his gaze and grimaced as if she had taken a bite of a sour fruit. "They've been arguing all morning." She indicated the exec. "That's Orin Jenkins, from Acquisitions."

  "From what?" Del asked.

  "Acquisitions," she said. "Vid-bids. They find new talent. He's thinking of signing a Eubian band."