Diamond Star

by Catherine Asaro

  "Put me down!" Del shouted at him.

  "No." Cameron carried him off the stage.

  "Well isn't that romantic?" Randall smirked as he walked past, his arms loaded with holoscreens.

  "All right!" Del said. This was humiliating. "I'll go to the flaming green room. Just put me down."

  "Thank you." Cameron set him on his feet.

  "I can't believe this," Del growled. But he went.

  " . . . we're too civilized to have a riot at a rock concert!" the man on the holo-cast asserted. "You might have seen that kind of behavior in a more barbaric age. But now? Never!"

  "Oh, for crying out loud," Anne said to the holographic image of the news show. "A few people climbed on the stage. What's next? The fall of civilization!"

  "Shhhh." Jud waved his hand at her. They were gathered around his mesh in Del's hotel room, listening to reviews of the concert. Except they were picking up a lot more than music critics. This time they had hit the major news outlets. Michael Laux on Atlantic City-Time Hour was interviewing Henry Flume, a supposed expert on modern culture.

  "It was a mass trance," Flume said darkly. "This Del person corrupts everyone who listens to him."

  "For flaming sake," Del said.

  "A trance. That's certainly an interesting idea," Laux said. He turned toward the camera. "I'd like to introduce our other guest tonight, Orin Jenkins, Vice President of Acquisitions at Prime-Nova, the label that puts out Arden's music. Good evening, Mister Jenkins."

  "Thank you, Michael." Orin sounded much more formal than in person. He looked formal, too; his sleek, snappy clothes were gone, replaced by a silver and blue suit.

  "What do you think about this idea that Del Arden hypnotizes his audience?" Laux asked.

  Orin laughed good-naturedly. "Believe me, if our performers could do that, we'd be marketing it full tilt."

  "That figures," Del said. Leave it to Prime-Nova to see the marketing angle first.

  "Mister Arden has a great talent," Orin said. "One might be tempted to suggest we haven't seen this reaction before because our 'civilized' acts aren't talented enough to cause it."

  "Hey, listen to that," Anne told Del. "Someone at Prime-Nova actually acknowledged that you have something to do with your popularity, that it isn't all their star-making machine."

  "That's a load of crock," Flume said. "That boy is singing depraved froth with a loud voice. He's a bad influence."

  "Oh, puleeease," Randall said. "Can't he find anything less clichéd than 'bad influence'?"

  "Don't bang on it," Jud said. "The more people hear what a terrible influence Del is, the more they'll listen to our music."

  "What do you want to bet," Bonnie said, "that Orin will get something in there about how sexy Del is."

  "Naw, he wouldn't go that far," Randall said. "The censors wouldn't allow it."

  "What is Arden doing that you see as a bad influence?" Laux asked Flume. He seemed genuinely perplexed.

  "The way he moves on stage," Flume said. "One moment, his body language is telling the universe to go bleep itself. I won't defile your program by using the actual word. The next moment, he's telling all the women he will have intercourse with them."

  Anne let out a hoot of laughter. "Hah! Orin didn't have to mention it. Flume did it for him."

  "I do not move that way," Del said indignantly.

  "Hell," Randall said. "If I knew what Flume meant, I'd move that way, too."

  Orin didn't miss the opening. "If you're saying Del Arden is one of the most potent male sex symbols to hit the music scene in some time, I won't disagree there. But that's no crime."

  "Hey," Del said, laughing. "Now I'm a potent sex symbol."

  "Yeah, right." Randall threw a crumpled-up napkin at him. "I can hardly control myself."

  "As opposed to what?" Jud asked. "An impotent sex symbol?"

  Anne choked on the coffee she was drinking. Del just glared. He could imagine what his family would say to Orin's comment. Then again, maybe he didn't want to imagine it. They might laugh. Or his mother would give him another lecture on the discretion expected of his "station." He had once infuriated her when, as a teenager, he had told her he wasn't a mag-rail train stop.

  "It's unhealthy," Flume was saying.

  "Why?" Orin had that Prime-Nova We know so much more than you tone. Del usually hated it, but when it was being used in his defense instead of against him, he liked it just fine.

  "Because it leads to what happened in Wyoming tonight," Flume retorted.

  "Nothing ever happens in Wyoming," Jud drawled. "No wonder this is such a big story."

  Wyoming? Del had lost track of where they were on the tour. Yes, they had been in Wyoming. Tomorrow they were going to California. He was exhausted from all the traveling.

  Laux turned to face the holocam. "There you are, folks. You've heard from both experts. Register your vote on the City-Time Hot Handle. Vote 'yes' if you agree Del Arden is popular because of his talent and 'no' if you believe his popularity comes from unwholesome qualities."

  "What kind of wonky choice is that?" Del scowled at the others. "Can't anyone on this planet do anything without voting on it?"

  "It's called democracy," Randall said.

  "No, it's not!" Del said. "Democracy is a political system. This is—I don't know what it is. What happens if people vote that I'm unwholesome?" For all he knew, Prime-Nova might decide he was too risky to keep on tour.

  "The polls supposedly don't have influence," Anne said. "But if it goes against you, our backers might worry."

  "Here." Jud brought up another holo, a room with two doors. He flicked a holicon, and the right-hand door opened.

  "You've just voted yes for Del Arden!" a cheerful voice announced. "Do you have any comments to include with your vote?"

  "I sure do." Jud spoke into the mesh comm. "This poll is silly. Everyone knows Arden is brilliant. Just because Flume finds him threatening doesn't mean the rest of us will let Flume destroy our music."

  "You know they can track who said that," Randall said. "They'll figure out it came from Del's morpher."

  "I don't care," Jud said. "It's true."

  To Del's amazement, Bonnie, Anne, Randall, and even Cameron voted yes. Then Jud flicked a holicon and a graph of the poll results came up. It was 88 percent in favor of Del.

  "Do you think it will stay that way?" Del asked.

  "It's too soon to say." Anne studied the stats below the tally. "About one thousand people have voted so far. So our four votes couldn't be skewing the result."

  "Did you notice the way they phrased it?" Bonnie asked. " 'Yes' came first, with a question almost guaranteed to make people agree. Of course Del has talent. The 'no' vote is second, with the unwholesome choice. Not yes/no on the unwholesome thing, but yes-talent and no-unwholesome. I think they set it up that way on purpose, to skew it in favor of Del."

  "Huh." Del wondered why. "That's odd."

  "Not really," Jud said. "Laux likes you."

  "He hardly knows me."

  "Yeah, but he brought you on his show when you were a nobody. Take my word; he likes you."

  A chime came from the mesh. Jud flicked his hand through the respond holicon, and Mac's voice came out of the comm. "I'm on my way back from the stadium."

  "Is everything okay?" Jud asked.

  "It looks like the damage wasn't too bad," Mac said. "Some people got a few scrapes and bruises, but nothing worse than you all ended up with."

  Not all of us, Del thought. He was still irked at Mac for refusing to let him help the others.

  "What about the stage?" Jud asked.

  "We'll have to pay for the damage," Mac said. "But all things considered, it could have been a lot worse." Then he said, "Del?"

  Del leaned over the mesh. "Yes?"

  "I want to talk to you. In private."

  Del was aware of the others watching him, waiting for his response. He had told them they were all a team, not "Del and some other guys." Cameron looked uncomfortabl
e.

  "If you have something to say," Del said, "you can say it to all of us. And if you're going to tell me to stop touring, the answer is no."

  "Damn it, Del!" Mac added some other choice words under his breath. "You're going to give me heart failure."

  "No one was hurt. You said so yourself." Del smiled. "Actually, it was sort of fun. Why do all those women want to kiss me?"

  "For crying out loud," Mac said. "I'll see you all in a few minutes. Good-bye!" With that, he cut the connection.

  "I knew he'd be upset," Jud said. "But why would he want us to stop touring?"

  Randall considered Del. "That's a good question. In fact, I've never seen a personal manager with so little desire to see his client succeed."

  "That's not true," Del said.

  "You have to admit," Anne said, "he's too protective."

  "I'm Prime-Nova's investment," Del said. "They don't want me damaged."

  "No one is that concerned about the rest of us," Anne said. She didn't sound angry, more puzzled.

  "We're not important enough," Randall snapped. There was no mistaking his anger. "We can be replaced."

  "No, you can't." Del looked around at them. "It isn't just me up there, it's the four of us, and Bonnie and Cameron. We're doing this together. Without you, I'm nothing."

  Randall opened his mouth, then closed it again. While they waited, he took a breath. Then he said, "Del, I know I get testy. I'm sorry. I'm just not used to playing second in a band. But this all means as much to me as it does to the others."

  Del hadn't expected that. He spoke quietly. "Thanks. I appreciate it."

  He just wished Mac would appreciate his success more.

  Staver invited Del to Muir Woods in California. The forest took Del's breath away. Lyshriol had no trees; the plants in the "woods" there were glasslike tubes and bubbles, all in gem colors that evoked the stained glass windows in cathedrals he had visited on Earth. But even after seeing trees in Maryland and other places, he wasn't prepared for the redwoods. They were huge. Magnificent. Centuries old. Just walking under them was incredible. A deep calm spread through him.

  "I didn't know anything like this could exist," Del said.

  "You've never visited here?" Staver asked.

  "I didn't grow up on Earth," Del said. "I come from one of the rediscovered Ruby colonies. Earth just found us first."

  "I had wondered," Staver said. "You have more interest in Skolian affairs than most Allied citizens."

  "We hear a lot." In the serenity of the woods, Del felt more relaxed than he had in ages, except when he used his bliss-node. He eased down his mental barriers, curious about Staver—

  And recoiled fast. But it was too late.

  Staver raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I'm an empath."

  "You knew? About me?"

  "I wasn't certain until just now," Staver said. "But yes, I suspected the first time I saw you in concert."

  "Oh." Del wondered how many other people had guessed. "I don't usually tell people." He rebuilt his shields to protect his mind even better than before.

  "Nor do I," Staver said quietly.

  They walked on, silent beneath the ancient trees. Even though Del hardly knew Staver, he didn't feel the nervous compulsion to talk that usually came when he interacted with someone who could affect his career. He had never needed to have such conversations before, and he didn't know how. Here under the redwoods, though, his stress trickled away.

  After a while, Del said, "Did you mean that about the Skolian government locking up the Ruby Dynasty?" He kept his shields up so no hint about his identity would leak to Staver.

  "I suppose not." The older man exhaled. "Of course you're right, it would make us no better than the Traders. And we just need two or three Ruby psions to power the Kyle web. But you don't realize how few of them there are. Only seven, I think."

  "Twelve," Del said absently. People often miscounted the number of people in his family because no one really knew anything about him or those of his siblings who had never left Lyshriol.

  Staver gave a wry laugh. "You're optimistic."

  With a start, Del realized what he had said. Damn! He would have to be more careful. "Maybe it's wishful thinking."

  "Why?" Staver asked curiously. "Why would you care if there were more of them?"

  "I guess just the idea of psions having a larger community."

  "I doubt it matters to them."

  You have no idea. Del wondered if Staver could understand what it was like never to find a person outside your family you could fully share your love with. Staver could find other empaths; they were rare, but not one in a trillion. A Ruby could love someone who wasn't a Ruby, but they could never have the full link, two people become one, that miraculous bond Del's mother had known with his father—and lost the night his father died. Del had shared his mind with his twin sister from before their birth, but he had died and she had lived, and now they were no longer twins. Their connection had weakened.

  "Do you remember what you said about the Trader Aristos the other night?" Del asked.

  Staver met his gaze. "I meant every word."

  "It almost sounds personal for you."

  It was a moment before Staver answered. "Five years ago, their raiders kidnapped someone I knew and sold her as a provider."

  No wonder he was angry. "I'm sorry."

  "Why?" Staver asked. "So many of your people either don't understand or don't care."

  Del decided to reveal just a bit. "A Highton Aristo nearly killed my father. He escaped, but he was never the same."

  "Gods," Staver said. "I didn't expect that."

  Del stepped over a fallen log covered with moss, deep green beneath the high canopy of the forest. "It isn't something we talk about." Such simple words for a pain that went so deep.

  "I understand." After a moment, Staver said, "I admit, my idea of locking up the Ruby Dynasty wouldn't solve anything. It's what you Allieds call a 'knee-jerk reaction.' But what would you do to protect empaths against the Aristos?"

  Del thought of his mother, her eyes blank after the Traders had fried her brain. "Exterminate them," he said flatly. "Every last one. All two-however-many thousand."

  "That's strong medicine from an Allied citizen."

  Del shook his head, unable to explain. "They're too powerful. It seems hopeless that we'll ever be free of their brutality. I just wish I could do something."

  "Aye," Staver murmured. "We'd all like to."

  Del lowered his mental shields carefully this time, using more nuance so Staver wouldn't detect him. Staver's mood was difficult to read, but his wariness came through. He wondered if he should trust Del. Something to do with . . . what? Providers.

  It hit Del in a flash, partly insight and partly empathy. Staver wasn't here just to find Allied talent. His job served as a cover for a very illegal project—he helped providers escape from the Traders, routing their path through Allied territory because it drew less attention.

  Del pulled Staver to a stop. "I want to help."

  Staver looked at Del's hand on his arm, then at Del. "Excuse me?" He pulled away his arm.

  "Whatever you're doing, I want to help."

  "What exactly am I 'doing'?"

  "You're helping providers," Del said. "Getting them out of there."

  Staver snorted. "You've an active imagination, young man."

  Del couldn't just let it go. This was too important. "All right. You aren't doing anything. But if the anything you aren't doing needs financing, come to me."

  Staver spoke kindly. "We all want to do something, son. It's frustrating to feel helpless against their tyranny. But we can't take on the Trader Empire. We're mice running at a huge monolith." He laid his hand on Del's shoulder. "I appreciate the thought, though."

  Del frowned at him. "Right." He didn't believe for one moment that Staver didn't know what he was talking about.

  Del turned over and stretched his arms. He was so drowsy, half awake and relaxed. His bed felt h
ard, though.

  After a while, he opened his eyes. A woman was seated in a chair next to him, reading a holo-book. A braid hung over her shoulder, brown streaked with grey. She had a round face with laugh lines around her eyes, and she wore a blue shift. She was so unlike the glossy types that surrounded him lately, he wondered why she hadn't stood out more among his guests.

  Except . . . what guests? He hadn't been at a party. He and Staver had gone to a café in a place called Sausalito. They had drunk herbal tea, whatever that meant.

  Del's mind wandered, unable to focus. Cameron had once told him that people cooked with herbs. Anne claimed they were medical. Del had asked Randall, who told him "herbs prickled," a comment Randall clearly found hilarious. He told Del to go smoke and have fun. Frustrated, Del had consulted Claude, his EI. After some discussion, they figured out Randall meant "prickle" as in grass, an archaic term for marijuana, and also a play on a word referring to a certain part of the male anatomy. Smoke and have fun indeed. Del doubted he had been drinking marijuana tea, but who knew. He remembered zilch about whatever had happened afterward.

  He was lying on his back on a stone ledge that jutted out from the wall. A smart-blanket warmed his body.

  "Hello?" Del asked.

  The woman looked up from her holobook. "Hello."

  "Who are you?" Del was surprised how tired he sounded.

  "My name is Lydia." She turned off her book. "Are you feeling better?"

  "I got sick?" Damn. Maybe he had a reaction to the tea. He didn't remember pain, though, and he wasn't dead. At least, he hoped not. This would be a weird afterlife.

  "You passed out." She leaned forward and smoothed his hair out of his eyes. "It's amazing. You really look this way."

  "What way?" he asked.

  "Like Del Arden."

  "What an astonishing coincidence," Del said groggily.

  She smiled. "I mean, the vids don't enhance your looks."

  "Oh." He thought of asking her why would he bother, then changed his mind. Of course Prime-Nova would bother.

  "Where's Staver?" Del asked.

  "He'll be back." Lydia tilted her head. "Is that your real name? Del Arden?"

  "Well, yeah. It's not a pseudonym." With horror, Del felt more words forming: My full name is Del-Kurj Arden Valdoria Skolia. He barely stopped himself, and holding back was a struggle. What was wrong with him?