Diamond Star

by Catherine Asaro

"Good." She spoke into the comm on the gauntlet embedded in her armor. "Gregori, are you down?"

  A man answered. "Two hundred meters north, Captain." Then he said, "Something's going on in that cabin. They've blocked all our three-D imaging sensors. I'm also registering a lot of optic-meshes, carbon fiber composites, and biosynthetics in there."

  "Damn," Jackson muttered.

  "Keep trying to get the images," Maura said. "We'll rendezvous at the cabin and go with Plan Delta." Then she said, "No lethals unless absolutely necessary. I don't want Valdoria hit by friendly fire, and if someone did kidnap him, we want them alive. But if you have no choice, I don't care what hostiles you blast. Just get Valdoria out of there."

  "Got it," Gregori said.

  "All right. Switch to internal."

  Whatever other communication the team had went private among them, transmitted on a tactical channel from helmet to helmet. Mac had no doubt it was scrambled and encoded as well.

  They slipped through the forest, their footfalls muffled by snow, Mac and Jud staying back a few paces. The pristine swaths of white on the ground and weighting down the firs reflected in the chameleon armor of the Marines until it was hard to tell where the land ended and the commandos started. It felt surreal to Mac.

  Although it was out of character for Del to vanish this way, he wouldn't be the first of Mac's clients who went AWOL while celebrating the heady flush of success. They might discover Del had just come here for a tryst with some girl, but he would rather overreact than be unprepared. Given the cabin's defenses, though, Mac doubted they had overreacted. No normal person equipped a house with military-grade systems. Nor could the team's EM pulse, or electromagnetic pulse, affect the optical or bio-circuits Gregori had detected inside. The Marines had a Faraday cage that would protect their equipment against the pulse, but they couldn't put everything in it, which meant it might affect their nonlethal weapons. As a backup, they had semiautomatics, which were immune to modern tech, but in close quarters, the high-velocity rounds from those atavistic guns could end up hurting Del, too.

  At least the team's armor included release ports for nanite gas, which could knock someone out without killing them. The nanites could be partially counteracted by an antidote gas, but it would take someone with a survivalist mentality bordering on psychotic to have stolen the military-issue gear and chemicals needed to give that protection.

  Mac didn't want to think what would have happened if Del hadn't been a Ruby prince. Far more time would have passed before anyone found him. It brought home with a vengeance the price public figures paid for their fame. Nor did the tech advances of their mesh-saturated age guarantee celebrities would act with any more wisdom than in prior ages. Del had made a mistake, and he could die for that misjudgment.

  Del became aware he was slumped against the wall of a darkened room. Immobile—but alive. Alive.

  He couldn't move his legs. After several moments, he managed to raise his arm.

  "Del?" Delilah spoke sleepily at his side.

  With painful slowness, he lowered his arm and turned his head. He was sitting on the mattress, and Delilah lay next to him, just waking up, her body covered by a silvery sheet. He tried to speak, but only a whisper came out. "What do . . . to me?"

  She pulled herself up until she was sitting, and the sheet fell around her waist, leaving her torso bare. Del didn't want to look, but his traitorous gaze dropped to her voluptuous body.

  "You'll be all right," she said. "Your brain thinks you were blasted."

  "Delilah, don't do this." His voice cracked. "Don't you want the real Del? You don't have to settle for some phony simulation."

  "You'll never be corrupted in the bliss," she said in a surreally angelic voice. "You'll always be exactly as you are now." She touched the hinge in his hand. "Except better."

  "It will get boring if you can predict everything I do," he rasped. "With the real Del, you'll always have pleasant surprises. New songs."

  "Sing to me," she murmured. " 'Diamond Star.' "

  He sang raggedly. "Shimmering radiance above / Softening this lost man's love."

  She sighed with pleasure, but something felt wrong. He didn't feel her enjoyment. With a rush of vertigo, he realized they were still in the virt.

  "Make love to me," Delilah said, sliding down onto the bed.

  Nausea swept over Del. He couldn't stand the thought of having sex with her.

  A harsh voice spoke. "I don't think so."

  Del jerked up his head. "No!" Not again.

  Raker stood across the room with the carbine. He hadn't been there before, and Del hadn't heard any door open.

  Delilah pouted at Raker. "You're always interrupting us. You'll get your turn."

  "That's right." Raker raised his gun. "Good-bye, Del."

  "No!" Del struggled to get up, but his legs were paralyzed from the last time Raker had "shot" him. "Don't—"

  Raker fired.

  Del barely managed to open his eyes. He was sitting against the wall in a dim room with no lights on, just dirty sunlight filtering in through high slits on the walls. As his eyes focused, he saw Raker crouched a few paces away, watching him, holding the carbine across his knees. A heavy metal ring hung around Raker's neck and lay against his chest. Delilah had put on an old shirt and mesh-jeans and was kneeling next to Del with a neural injector gun.

  "What's that?" Del whispered. This time he knew he wasn't in the virt; he felt the moods of both Delilah and Raker with an intensity unmatched by anything in the bizarre universe of their bliss-node. What he picked up most was their avid fascination with him, as if he were a drug they craved. It scared the hell out of him. He tried to move, but his body wouldn't respond.

  "This will act right away." Delilah pressed the gun against the base of his neck, and the cool tickle of its injection chilled his skin. "It'll kick the universe."

  Del strained to push her away. "What are you giving me?"

  "It's a theta-kicker," Raker said. "You'll see the world in whole new colors."

  "No!" Panic swept over Del. Thetas weren't that different from taus.

  Delilah twisted the top of the injector, resetting it, and poked the tip against his skin again. "We have lots of chem-candy for you."

  This time Del managed to knock the syringe away. "Gods, don't."

  "Oh, come on," Raker said. "Everyone knows you rock stars eat drugs like candy. Quit acting like it's going to kill you." He drummed his fingers on his gun. "We need more material. We need to know how you act under the influence."

  "I'm allergic to kickers," Del said. "I'll go into something like anaphylactic shock." He prayed to every god of Lyshriol that his meds could counter thetas, or he was going to die a horrific death to entertain these two fanatics.

  Delilah's face twisted. "You have more wrong with you?"

  Del just looked at her. Nothing he could say would help. If he denied it, they would pump him full of more drugs. If he told her yes, something was very wrong with him, it would give them more reason to kill him.

  "I want that edited out of the virt," Delilah told Raker.

  "Why?" Raker said. "It'll make it more interesting to see what happens to him."

  Nausea rolled over Del—an all too familiar nausea. It didn't slam him the way it had the first time; today it came more slowly. Gods willing, the meds in his body were fighting the thetas. But the sickness was building just like before.

  "I need a doctor," Del rasped. "Please."

  "This isn't fun anymore," Delilah said shrilly. "He's defective. I don't want that in our virt."

  "Neither do I." Raker raised the carbine. "Good-bye, Del."

  "Ah, gods." Del raised his arm as if that could ward off the laser shot. This time, if Raker fired, he would die. At least it would be fast, rather than the drawn-out agony of the kickers.

  The world seemed to slow down for Del. Delilah pulled down his arm, and Del stared into the bore of the gun. From somewhere he heard a dim shout, something about, Can't wait . . .
move now . . . The air crackled as if in a great pulse.

  The laser flew out of Raker's grip, hit by some projectile, and flipped over as it arced away. Raker jumped up as if he were moving through molasses and spun toward the far side of the room. With a snarl, he yanked up the ring around his neck, and it molded into a mask over his face. A white cloud was swirling in the room, and its sweet, nauseating stench saturated Del until his head swam. Delilah sprawled onto her stomach, falling across his legs. But the mist had no effect on Raker. Moving in that eerily slowed motion, he reached behind his back and pulled out a huge, barbaric shotgun. He sighted on Del—

  A rain of bullets hit Raker.

  The virtiso spasmed, convulsing under the force of the shots. The bullets entered his torso in small holes and exploded out of his back, taking a substantial portion of his body.

  "No!" Delilah's voice echoed as she struggled to her feet. In nightmarish slow motion, she grabbed the shotgun. "You can't have them both!" she shouted as she aimed the gun at Del.

  Del raised both arms in a futile gesture of defense. But instead of shooting him, Delilah spasmed as if a massive, invisible hand had slammed into her torso. She arched with a drawn-out scream and collapsed onto the bed, falling so close to Del that her blood sprayed across him.

  Gods help us. Del couldn't speak, he could only think the words. The thetas were kicking hard, both the hallucinations and pain. He doubled over, then fell onto his back and began to convulse.

  "Del!" The word vibrated in his ears. Mac was kneeling over him, shouting, "Get the stretcher here! Now!"

  Del's shaking eased just barely enough to let him whisper, "Help me—" His voice cut off as another convulsion started.

  "God, no. This can't be happening." Mac literally picked Del up in his arms and carried him across the room.

  Darkness swirled and encroached. Then a blast of cold air hit Del, jagged and sharp. Mac was carrying him outside. The sky heaved and buckled, turning red like a giant, laboring heart. Trees bent around him, heavy with snow, waving their arms, nauseating. The cold prickled Del's skin as it ran tiny feet over his body.

  Mac laid him on something soft and people crowded around. Then they were carrying him, rushing through the cold air. The moments passed with jagged spurts. They were inside another place, setting him down. A woman leaned over him, and a mesh-patch wavered and popped on her military flight suit, then jumped off and ran across Del's body. He groaned as it gave him electric shocks.

  Suddenly Jud was there, kneeling by Del, that familiar dark face, the dreadlocks threaded with yellow and blue beads. Ever since Del had seen Jud's hair, he had wished he could do that to his, too. Seeing Jud gave him an anchor in this theta-kicked madness.

  Moisture showed in Jud's eyes. "I'll make all the dreads in your hair that you want if you promise to stay alive."

  Del tried to say, Did I tell you that out loud? but no words came out.

  A hum vibrated his body. An engine? Medics were attaching lines to him, their motions smeared across his sight. Mac had knelt on his other side, across from Jud.

  "You'll be all right." Mac's emotions swirled around Del in hallucinogenic blurs. He feared Del would die. Jud feared he would die. And something else from Jud, too. Del didn't know. He had no strength to lower his barriers.

  "Are you mad at me?" he whispered to Jud.

  "No." Jud's voice echoed in Del's head. "I'm not mad at you. But don't you ever go off by yourself again."

  "Is Cameron . . . all right?" Del asked.

  "He's fine," Mac said.

  Del closed his eyes. "I screwed up . . . royally this time."

  Jud laughed unevenly. "It's the only way you can screw up."

  It took a moment for Del's drug-soaked mind to absorb Jud's meaning. Then he slowly opened his eyes. "Mac told you."

  "I was there when he called General McLane," Jud said.

  Del felt sick. He didn't want to lose his best friend over this. "I'm not . . ."

  "I know," Jud said gently. Tears were gathering in his eyes. "I'm not going to call your royal ass, 'Your Highness.' And now I know why you're such a slob. You're used to people picking up after you, aren't you? Not even bots, but humans. Well, it's not going to happen in our apartment. You have to do it yourself." His voice shook on the last few words.

  Del didn't answer. His roommate knew what he needed to hear, that things wouldn't change. Of course it wasn't true; nothing would be the same. But it wouldn't take away Jud's friendship.

  Del let go then and fell into oblivion.

  Ricki stood at the observation window that looked into Del's hospital room. He was deep in his healing sleep, lying on his back with a silver sheet pulled halfway up his torso. As grateful as she was to Allied Space Command for rescuing him, she couldn't figure out why the hell they had done it or how they knew where to find him. Mac should have commed Prime-Nova. They had their own security force, which included operatives with military training.

  At least ASC kept the incident out of the media. Unfortunately, they were also keeping it secret from Prime-Nova, including the virts those two sickos had created. From what Captain Penzer had told them, it sounded like "Raker" and "Delilah" had been whacked-out insane.

  The records in the meshes showed they had followed Del from concert to concert until Delilah could get him alone. Delilah, aka Harriet Delmartin, had altered her face and body to fit what they believed was Del's ideal woman. Ricki didn't miss that the girl had looked like her. She would have laughed if it hadn't hurt so much. She knew damn well she wasn't Del's ideal woman. She had no idea who lived in his dreams, but it wasn't her.

  Del looked so young, sleeping in the hospital bed, his lashes gold against his face. He bewildered Ricki. When most holo-rockers hit it big, they plunged with abandon into the lifestyle. Del spent his nights quietly, preferring virts to parties. He made love to her like a maestro, sometimes gently, other times wild and rough, and always affectionate afterward.

  In the past, when it came to lovers, Ricki had avoided rockers like the plague. They screwed around too much. Del wasn't as bad as most, but he was no angel, nor was he immune to how easy the women came. If he hadn't gone after that fanatical little tidbit in the first place, none of this would have happened.

  The intensity of Ricki's response to him terrified her. She hadn't reacted with such strong emotions since her sixth birthday, the day her caustic father had walked out on her mother without even saying good-bye to his heart-broken daughter. Her mother had been no fucking saint, either. Seven years later, she ran off with that sleazy-assed cowboy with the scarred hand, leaving Ricki on her own. Ricki had sworn then she would never care about anyone again enough to be hurt, not her stupid dysfunctional family, not her glitzy friends, and most of all, never anyone she loved.

  She had survived at thirteen by seducing her first holo-rock singer, who kept her in jewels and contraband furs while he slept with everything on the planet that had at least one x-chromosome. She dumped him when a gentler man wooed her away, but she left that one when he asked her to marry him. She became invulnerable, so beautiful they all wanted her, but none could have her, because if she stayed, even long enough just to wake up with them, they would hurt her.

  "He looks so peaceful," someone said.

  Ricki jumped and turned with a start. Mac was standing next to her at the window. She scowled at him. "Your commandos release those virts yet?"

  "They weren't commandos," Mac said. "The Raptor squad is a unit assigned by Allied Space Command to deal with civilian crises."

  "What the blazes for?"

  "ASC doesn't just exist to fight wars," he said blandly.

  Yeah. Right. "Don't shit me, Mac. They also don't exist to rescue philandering rock stars."

  He shrugged. "I called in a favor from my Air Force days."

  "What for? You could have called Prime-Nova."

  "This unit could act faster."

  "Maybe." She didn't believe him, but she had no plausible reasons to re
place his. "Or maybe that's total horse manure."

  Mac met her gaze. "Be glad he's alive."

  She exhaled like a balloon deflating. There was that. A few minutes more, and Del could have been dead. Ricki had no idea how to deal with how much the thought wrenched her. She didn't know how to turn off the rusty, long-unused emotions Del jolted awake within her. She had been with him too long, over six months. She had even been faithful. But that surely was because she hadn't met anyone else who interested her. It had to be. She couldn't be falling in love with him, because she wasn't capable of loving anyone.

  XVII: Rubies

  The first person Del saw when he woke up was Staver Aunchild.

  Del lay in a bed secured by flexi-metal railings. The room had blue walls with calming swirls of color. The subtle images would have soothed him if he hadn't felt like a star dock crane had hit him in the head. Lines of light went from his body to contraptions around the bed.

  Staver was sitting in an armchair, studying a display of musical notes above a holobook. He was the last person Del would have expected to see when he woke up. Mac or Jud seemed more likely. Ricki, he hoped, but she probably never wanted to see him again. Him and his damn hormones and his stupid insecurity about being called pretty. Yeah, he had really proved his masculinity with Delilah. The gruesome image of how she and Raker died would stay with him for the rest of his life, as well as the knowledge that it could have been him, if his rescuers had been a few minutes later. He didn't want to feel remorse at their deaths, but the guilt flooded him.

  The business with Delilah and Raker had an eerie resonance to what had happened with Lydia and Staver. In both cases, someone had knocked him out, and he awoke with a woman he didn't know. Both times, they had violated his privacy and forced his cooperation. Now here was Staver again. Panic flared in Del.

  Calm down, he thought. A coincidence doesn't make Staver guilty of anything. But his fear didn't go away.

  "Hi," Del whispered.

  Staver looked up and smiled. "Hello."

  "Good to see . . . you." Del wasn't sure that was true, but it came out anyway. Harv, his publicist, had coached him too well.