Diamond Star

by Catherine Asaro

  "Normally, yes. But your Jagernaut bodyguard knew some of their security codes, including a neutrino pulse sequence that could scramble their systems enough to let us tamper with them. For the next few minutes, they should read this pod as empty and that everything is fine on the yacht." She pushed back a straggle of hair that had escaped her braid. "It won't last long. And we weren't sure it would work. We had to get close enough to these ships for the nanos and pulses to act, which meant practically on top of them. No way would these people let us near Tarex if they thought we posed a threat."

  Their behavior was beginning to make sense. "So you acted a little dumb."

  "A little?" She snorted. "We acted like idiots."

  "It played right into his opinion of us." Del's pulse surged. "We need to get to your ship faster, before they figure out what's going on."

  "If we go too fast, it will draw attention. The police have no reason to rush back an empty pod."

  "I feel a little . . . strange." He couldn't focus.

  Penzer spoke quietly. "You look like you went through hell."

  Del probed a bruise on his arm. The neural dust on his skin felt slick against his fingertips. "Tarex and I . . . had a fight."

  Penzer indicated mammoth doors of a docking bay opening on the police crusier. "We have doctors ready to treat you."

  "I'll be fine." Del had no intention of letting anyone touch him. His injuries didn't matter anyway. No one could treat his rage. He had spent one day with Tarex. What about the people he loved who had been prisoners for so much longer, who had died in that agony? Hatred filled him.

  He wanted the Aristos to pay.

  XXVI: A Simple Choice

  When the police cruiser landed at the port, more police met them, and this time they were the real thing. They demanded Captain Penzer release Del into their custody.

  "This is absurd," Penzer told the sergeant. "This man is the victim, not the perpetrator."

  They were all standing on the tarmac, including Del, who had on a shirt the doctors had given him. He left it unfastened in the front so it wouldn't pull across his back and aggravate his injuries. Although he had let the doctors remove the neural dust and treat the bruises on his face, he had stopped them when they tried to take care of the lash wounds. By then his bruises were healing, and their fast recovery reminded him of the way Tarex's med-bot had treated his throat. That had also healed fast—because Tarex had wanted him to sing even after Del had fucking screamed for hours.

  Del was too angry to care what the police thought. He stood there in his leather pants with chains, his shirt open, his chest banged up, and his hair in his eyes. The police scowled as if he were a dissolute punk staggering home after a night of misdeeds.

  "We have to bring him in," the sergeant said. "He's a well-known figure involved in a major criminal incident." The officer looked harried. "The buzz is all over the meshes. They say Prime-Nova bribed us to let him off. If we don't bring him in, the publicity could cause major problems for the police commissioner and the precinct."

  "You don't understand." Penzer handed him an ID cube. "Comm the people here. They'll explain."

  "Why can't you?" the sergeant asked.

  Del knew Penzer couldn't breathe a word about his identity. If it jumped to the meshes, it would cause far more furor than the police were worried about. She glanced at Del, and he shook his head slightly.

  Penzer turned back to the sergeant. "My CO can talk to you."

  He lifted the cube. "I'll give this to the chief. But we still have to take Mister Arden in."

  Del stiffened as two officers came over to him, one carrying a pair of magnetized cuffs. He couldn't take being manacled, not after everything else that had happened. "No!" He stepped back from them. "Don't put those on."

  Penzer stepped past the police, ignoring their warning looks. She spoke quietly to Del. "What do you want me to do?"

  He knew what she was asking: should she tell them he had diplomatic immunity? They would want proof. If it became public that she claimed he had a status reserved for foreign dignitaries, it could turn into a mess. She couldn't give details, and neither could Del, but that would just make it worse, deepening the mystery.

  Del was tempted to tell them so he could get away from this. He had to do a concert tonight. He couldn't think past it, couldn't settle his mind. He felt too dizzy to make decisions. His family would be furious over what he had done. What if he said something he later regretted, when his mind cleared? He didn't know what to do.

  "Call Mac, my manager," he told her. They both knew she would call General McLane first, but Del wanted Mac.

  "We'll take care of it," Penzer promised him.

  Then the police took him away.

  Del panicked when he saw the cell. Three of the officers took him down a corridor with blue walls. The simple cell at the end was a white room with a white table and chair, and a bed against one wall. As cells went, it was innocuous—except it looked exactly like the room where he had awoken from cryogensis.

  "No!" Del balked at the threshold. "I can't."

  "You're in a jail, not a hotel," one of the officers said. "You don't get to choose."

  Del was having trouble breathing. "You can put me in that room we passed up front."

  "The holding cell?" That came from the man the others called Gonzales. "It has other people in it."

  "I don't give a shit who's in it." Del knew he wasn't helping himself, but he was too agitated to stop. "I can't go in here."

  "We can't put you in the holding cell," Gonzales said. "You're too well-known."

  Del knew what they feared: bad publicity. It was probably the only reason they were discussing this at all instead of just dumping him in the cell. "I'll sign a release or something. I won't hold you responsible if anything happens."

  "It doesn't work that way," one of the other officers said. He looked as if he wanted to shove Del into the cell and be done with it. "Why can't you go in here?"

  "I—it—I get convulsions. When I panic. And being in small places makes me panic." Del made it up on the spot, but it was a lot closer to the truth than he had intended.

  "Hell," Gonzales muttered. "We're screwed no matter what we do with him."

  "Enough of this," the first man said. "He wants the coop up front? Fine. Put him in it."

  The holding cell had six other prisoners. One was in for drunk and disorderly behavior. Another very large man was there because the police had caught him roughing up someone who owed a debt to somebody else. Del had no idea what the other four had done. He found out about the first two only because they knew each other and were talking when the police brought him into the cell.

  "Hey, look at that," the drunk said. "We got ourselves a real rock star." He laughed idly. "You're that guy who gets all those pretty little peeps all turned on and then screws 'em all night."

  "What?" Del was too edgy and in too much pain to figure out what the man said. He just wanted to hit something.

  "He ain't no rock star," the giant man said.

  "Looks like him," the drunk persisted.

  "Looks pissed," a gangly man with acne scars on his face said. "What's wrong, pretty boy, got no one to bail you out?"

  "Back off," Del said. He knew better, but he was too angry to think straight. He paced away, to the front of the cell. The wall looked like black glass, but when he pressed it with his palms, it felt like steel.

  "It don't break," the giant said.

  Acne came over to Del. "You're stuck with us."

  Del shook his head and started to pace again.

  "You look ready to blow holes in the sky," the drunk said. He sounded more curious than anything else.

  "I need to get out," Del said. "I have to sing tonight."

  "You are that guy!" The drunk grinned. "In D.C., right? I was going to the concert before I got cooped here."

  "So was I," Del growled. He couldn't believe this, that he had escaped from an Aristo, one of the most powerful men in thr
ee empires, only to end up stuck in jail. Where the hell was Mac or McLane or someone?

  It had been late afternoon when the police brought him in. Even with a flyer, it would take half an hour to reach the mall in D.C. where the concert had been going all day. If he didn't leave soon, he would miss his performance. He knew Mac would tell him not to do the concert, but he had no intention of staying off that stage. It would be Tarex's final victory over him.

  Del didn't know how he would sing when he was so angry. His back hurt like hell. He kept hearing Tarex. Kneel. The Aristo was going to get away with everything. He had tortured Del and Staver, broke gods knew how many laws, sinned against human decency—and no one would touch him because no one wanted an "incident." Instead here was Del, in jail while people waited hand and foot on poor Tarex in his fucking yacht. The Aristo would raise hell over Staver and Del, throwing a spotlight on Staver that would probably end his Star Road and his hope of ever finding his wife.

  "Damn!" Del shouted. He needed his virt. He had gone too long without the bliss. The only thing he hated even more was being so dependent on it.

  "What are you yelling about?" Acne said. "And quit walking so much. It agitates me." He said it like a-gee-tates.

  "Lay off," Del snapped.

  Acne gave a dry laugh. "I ain't been laid in too long, pretty boy. You offering to help ease my pain?"

  Del jerked, remembering Tarex slamming him down on the bed. He went over to Acne and spoke in slow, overly enunciated words. "Shut your fucking mouth."

  "Not smart," the drunk muttered. "I don't think you're gonna sing tonight."

  "Oh, he'll sing," Acne said. "Loud and clear."

  Del took a breath. He didn't want to fight. "Sorry. I'm wound up."

  "Oh gosh durn," Acne said in an exaggerated accent, parodying Del. "You're wound up. Wound up like what, boy? Like a whore? Oh, whoops. That's your mama."

  Del froze. "What did you call my mother?"

  "Now you're going to say she's not a whore," Acne said. "She just likes strolling the street when the boys come looking for fun."

  "No one calls my mother a whore." Del was surprised how calm he sounded, because inside he felt ready to explode.

  "Your daddy her pimp?" Acne asked.

  Del hit his palms against Acne's shoulders, shoving him away. "Pull it back, asshole."

  "I think you got a death wish," the giant told him.

  Acne hit his fist against Del's shoulder, making him stumble back. "I'm getting sick of you." He hit Del's other shoulder with his other fist, pushing him back more. "Little boys shouldn't drill with big ones. Leave that to your mama."

  That's it. Del snapped into a mai-quinjo move and threw Acne into the wall. For one instant the larger man gaped at Del. Then he lunged forward, raising both fists. Del reacted on instinct, spinning as he brought up his leg. He kicked with his body laid out in the air and caught Acne in the stomach. Then he whirled around and kicked again, catching him from the other side. Acne couldn't fight at all, even though he had obviously expected to win. His size and strength might take him a long way against untrained opponents, but within seconds, Del had laid him out on the floor.

  Del was so worked up, he whirled to the other men. "Come on!" he yelled. "Fuck with me. Just try it!" He needed to hit something.

  "Jesus." The drunk backed away. "I got no argument with you."

  Del strode to the wall and slammed his fist against the glass. "Damn it, Mac," he shouted. "Get me out of here."

  A harsh voice came over a comm. "Stand back."

  Del took a breath and backed off. The other men gave him plenty of space. When he was in the middle of the room, an airlock shimmered and left a very large policeman in the opening. Two more stood behind him.

  "Stay there," the big man said. He came forward, accompanied by an officer who kept a stunner aimed at Del. The third strode to Acne and knelt next to him, pulling out a medical tape. More voices were coming from the hall outside.

  Gritting his teeth, Del stayed put, watching the doctor treat Acne. He had to get a grip on his anger before he started punching police officers and ended up in even more trouble. He was surprised they hadn't gassed the cell when he started to fight.

  A deep voice spoke from the entrance of the cell. "Del, what the bloody hell are you doing?"

  Del turned with a start. A tall man in a military uniform stood there, frowning at him. General McLane.

  "Holy shit," someone said.

  Del stalked over to McLane. "What the 'bloody hell' took you so long?"

  "Definitely a death wish," the giant muttered behind him.

  Their reaction startled Del. Although he knew the five stars on Fitz's shoulders meant he had a high rank, he didn't understand it at a gut level. But he didn't need empathic abilities to see everyone's shock. They recognized McLane. Apparently Fitz had decided getting him out of jail fast was even more important than the stir that would start if it went public that the military had sent one of their big guns for Del.

  Fitz, however, was furious. "My people were right behind you, arranging your release. You've been here five minutes. How could you get into so much trouble so fast?"

  Del bit back his retort. It was either that or lose his temper.

  One of the policemen cleared his throat. "General McLane, are you in charge of this man?"

  "Yes, he is." That came from the grey-haired police chief, who had come up behind McLane and was entering the cell. He regarded Del coldly. "You're free to go."

  "He hit Vic," the giant protested, motioning at Acne, who was sitting up with the help of the doctor.

  "I want to press charges," Acne said. "For assault."

  "You think those little kicks were assault?" Del demanded. "Call my mother a whore again, and I'll show you assault."

  "Enough!" McLane looked as if he wanted to shake Del. "You aren't going to kick anyone."

  Acne crossed his arms. "I'm gonna sue."

  McLane considered Acne, then spoke to the doctor. "How is he?"

  "A few bruises." The doctor rose to his feet. "Otherwise he's fine."

  Acne stood up as well. "I've been in the courts," he told Del. "I know the drill. You inflicted emotional trauma. I'm suing your rich rock star butt for punitive damages."

  "Young man," McLane said. "Don't make trouble for yourself." He glanced at Del. "I'm sure reparations can be made."

  "I don't want no one shitting me." Acne fixed Del with a hard stare. "I'll see you in court, asshole. Your mama, too, if she's rich."

  "Pray you don't," Del said. He was the one who would take the brunt of his family's anger, but it wouldn't stop them from coming down on Acne like a ton of plutonium. Of course it would never get to court; the two governments would deal with it. But Del knew he had burned every bridge he had to the Allieds. No more concerts. No more vids. Kelric would drag him home.

  And Tarex, gods damn him, would go free.

  Del started to speak, but Fitz shook his head and jerked his chin toward the exit. "Now."

  As Del went down the hall outside the cell with Fitz and the police chief, the general said, "What were you thinking?"

  "I didn't fight to do harm," Del said. "Just to shut him up." The last thing he could take right now was censure from Kelric's counterpart among the Allieds.

  "We're going to bring you to Annapolis base," Fitz said. "Doctor Chandler wants you in the hospital. We've also been in contact with your brother. He's scheduled a holo-conference for tomorrow, after you've rested."

  "No." Del couldn't settle his agitation. "I have to sing tonight. I'm going to be late if we don't hurry."

  Fitz stared at him. "You must be joking."

  "No!" Del knew if he lost his temper, Fitz would never listen. He spoke in a calmer voice. "I signed a contract. I gave my word, General McLane. It's a huge concert. I have to show up. I'll go to Annapolis as soon as it finishes. I swear." He took a breath. "Please. It's probably the last concert I'll ever do."

  Fitz answered in an unexpecte
dly kind voice. "Del, you're in no condition to perform."

  "I'm fine." Del could hear a woman's voice. It sounded familiar. "Is that Ricki?"

  "If you mean Ms. Varento," Fitz said, "then yes, that's her."

  Del quickened his pace and entered a large room filled with people working at consoles. Except right now, most were pretending to work while they watched him covertly or stared outright. Del didn't care. He had one goal: the gorgeous blond standing in the middle of the room, arguing with two men in dark suits.

  "He needs to leave," she was saying in her Don't mess with me voice. "Our people will take care of your forms. You just have to release him into my custody."

  "Hey," Del said, coming up behind her.

  Ricki spun around. "Thank God!" Her gaze swept over him. "Good Lord, Del, what did they do? You look like hell warmed over."

  He gave her a shaky smile. "I'm glad to see you, too."

  Her voice softened. "You okay, babe?"

  "Yeah, I'm fine." He was too tense to embrace her. "Do you have a flyer? If we leave now, we'll just make it."

  "You aren't going anywhere," Fitz said. His voice was low enough that it didn't carry, but that didn't lessen its force.

  Ricki looked up at the general. Del expected her to turn on her barracuda mode or the wide-eyed innocent look. She did neither. She just said, "Sir, he has over a million people waiting to hear him, and that's just in D.C."

  "I can't. I'm sorry." Fitz even looked as if he meant it. "Not without permission from Imperator Skolia."

  "Well, hell," Del said. Like his brother would ever agree.

  "Permission from who?" the police chief asked.

  Fitz exhaled and just shook his head.

  Ricki spoke softly to Del. "I'm sorry, babe. I want you to do the concert. But he's right." She looked almost as tired as Del felt. "You need a doctor. That's more important."

  Del stared at her in disbelief. Of all the people he thought he could count on for support, she was the one.

  Fitz's shoulders relaxed. "Thank you, Ms. Varento."

  "Ricki, I'm doing great," Del said. "Really."

  She laid her hand on his arm. "I know you were looking forward to the show. But not this time."