Diamond Star (57 page)

"Hey!" Jud went after her. "You can't go in there."

By the time Jud caught up with her, she was in the spa that Centauri Travel modestly called a bathroom, with its marble stalls and tiled bathing pool. She was kneeling next to an unconscious man who lay sprawled on the floor.

Tyra looked up with a jerk. "I swear, I'm going to fry his damned royal ass!"

Jud stared at her. "Oh, shit."

It was Cameron who lay there.

With the fast-walk carrying him as he ran, Del flew through the port, speeding past everyone else. He knew Cameron would never forgive him. The Marine should have taken Del's
mai-quinjo
training more seriously. Del hadn't been sure himself what he could do in a real engagement. But the moves had come easily to him, honed by all his live concerts, and the mesh woven into his pants added intelligence to his actions, enhancing his efforts by contracting or releasing the leather. He had barely managed to knock Cameron out, but barely was enough.

Del had no doubt that when Kelric found out about this, he would pull Del off Earth faster than Del could grunt. But Del couldn't leave Staver condemned to a life of torture. As long as Tarex was on Earth, they could do something; once Tarex left, their chances of helping Staver were nil. The Star Road would die.

When Del had touched Staver's mind in the docking bay, he had caught only a hint of the exec--but given the intensity of what he found, that had been enough. Staver had commed him last night to talk about the rescue they planned for the provider. Del felt sure he could have convinced Staver not to go with the rescue team. Staver would be free now. But no, Del hadn't been available, because he had been submerged in his stupid, wretched bliss-node.

Del knew if he tried to help, he could become a prisoner. It scared the hell out of him. He was no good to the Aristos as a Ruby prince; if they linked him into the Dyad, he would die in a massive convulsion that made the ones after his concerts seem like nothing. But that would be better than the horror his life would otherwise become. All his instincts pushed him to retreat, seek protection, let the military take care of this mess. But he had felt the truth in his contact with Staver's mind; Tarex would leave today rather than risk losing the prize he had captured.

Del couldn't turn back. He had done nothing worthwhile with his life. If he were willing to admit it to himself, it was one reason he resented his family. It was easier to be angry at them than to acknowledge how useless he felt to help them. The Aristos had shattered his family, torn apart their lives, and turned them into interstellar pawns. He refused to let the Traders destroy a man who had fought them so well, a man Del might have convinced to stay in safety if he had been there when Staver needed to talk.

No more,
he thought.
No more will I stand by.

Del paused in front of the yacht, between the two Escorts, in full view of anyone within the three starships. They all had the circular shape of vessels that rotated in space, creating the effect of gravity, but they were too small to allow for much. He couldn't sneak into the yacht; they would catch him. More to the point, it would be obvious he was up to something they didn't want to happen. He had a better plan, one just bizarre enough, it might work, and let him get out with Staver, too.

So Del went up the ramp to the hatch--and knocked. "Hello?" he said in English. "Anybody home?"

Nothing.

Del knocked again. "Hello?"

A male voice came from within, speaking in the stilted phrases of mesh-translated language. "Who are you?"

"My name is Del Arden. Lord Tarex wanted to talk about licensing my work. I came to apologize for the way I acted."

More time passed. Del waited, his pulse racing. They would be monitoring his vital signs, which undoubtedly showed his fear. They probably assumed he was afraid of Tarex. Why wouldn't they? All "inferior" forms of life were supposed to fear Aristos.

Del was risking his freedom on his belief they wouldn't hold him prisoner if he came to talk business. They couldn't bargain with the Allieds if they grabbed the very people they wanted to work with. And Aristos liked one thing even more than providers: money. They were willing to deal with people they didn't consider human--which included everyone in the universe except themselves--if it would make them richer.

The airlock irised open. "Please enter," a voice said.

Taking a deep breath, Del went inside. As the airlock snapped closed behind him, an archway shimmered open in front. He stepped through into a gold and blue corridor with a lush carpet. A tall, strongly built man was approaching. He was larger than Dell and wore an elegant black jumpsuit, a surreal contrast to Del's leather and metal. The man didn't have red eyes, but his hair shimmered faintly, suggesting he had some Aristo heritage. But he wasn't an Aristo. Although his jumpsuit hid most of his neck, the edge of a bronze collar showed above it. A slave collar. Nausea swept over Del.

"My greetings," the man said. "I am Bronzeson. Please excuse my English. I know only a little."

"Hey." Del smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner. "I've never spoken it that well, either. I sing it better."

Bronzeson paused, probably listening to a translation in his ear comm. Then he chuckled. "Yes. Lord Tarex likes your music."

"He probably doesn't much like me." Del said, doing his best to look rueful.

"That you have come to apologize helps. I send message to him. He is here in an hour." The man lifted his hand toward a plush lounge ahead of them. "Please, be our guest. We have delicacy and fine wine." He didn't seem the least fazed to invite a man dressed like a thug onto the ship.

"Thanks," Del said.
An hour.
That was all the time he had. It didn't surprise him that Tarex made him wait. An Aristo would never let himself appear eager to meet someone who had treated him rudely. But he was coming, which meant Del had to finish his business fast.

"This yacht is great," Del said. He spoke slowly so the man's translator could keep up with him. "I'm thinking of buying one, too."

"Ah." Bronzeson beamed at him. "Take a look around. Lord Tarex has flawless taste and elegance."

Del had his own thoughts on that. Everything gleamed with too much metal, a stark blue and gold that seemed harsh to him. Whatever security measures were in place remained hidden. Given that Bronzeson had invited him onto the yacht, the ship would treat him as an honored guest. That was Del's only protection; it wouldn't immediately kill him when he started trouble. But that would only give him a few seconds to neutralize its defenses. It wasn't enough time.

As they entered into the lounge, Del lowered his mental shields. Bronzeson was easy to sense; Tarex would look with favor on him for hosting this guest, a man Tarex could make money from. Bronzeson couldn't imagine how anyone could refuse the Aristo. Nor could Tarex. Del's behavior at the party hadn't offended Tarex after Ricki "explained"; the Aristo took it as a given that empaths feared him. And of course Del crawled back to apologize.

Gritting his teeth, Del withdrew his awareness from Bronzeson and spread it through the ship. He didn't sense Tarex, but he did catch a sense of wrongness similar to what he felt around the Aristo. Where . . . ?

He hit the cavity.

Del froze.
No!
His mind reeled. He had slammed into someone part-Aristo, one of Tarex's officers. It said a great deal about how Tarex viewed him, that the Aristo had his most important crewmember elsewhere while Bronzeson met Del. But now that Del had found him, he couldn't avoid the mind of the officer. It pressed on him, suffocating, and Del mentally fled like a gazelle running from a lion.

"Are you all right?" Bronzeson asked.

"My apologies," Del said. "I'm not used to being on an Aristo ship." He didn't have to pretend to look shaky.

"A lord such as Tarex can be overwhelming even when he isn't present," Bronzeson said. "You are an empath, yes?"

Del tensed. "Why do you ask that?"

"Lord Tarex said you were." He lifted his hands as if to shrug. "I don't know how they can tell, but apparently it's quite clear from your performances."

That surprised Del, not that Tarex knew, but that he and his people openly acknowledged Del had the traits they sought in their most coveted slaves. Maybe he wasn't the only one playing the game of
Oh, isn't this all so normal?

Del had nothing against Bronzeson, but he had to act soon or he would never get off the ship before Tarex returned. He couldn't search for Staver with Bronzeson here. Nor would Bronzeson let him near the bridge, and Del needed to go there to disable the security. Fighting Bronzeson wouldn't be easy; he was a great deal larger than Del. But Del wasn't without resources.

Sorry,
he thought to Bronzeson. Then he spun around and kicked.
Fast.

Mai-quinjo
had two modes: kill and disable. Del knocked Bronzeson over with the kick, then dropped next to him and applied pressure with his mind and hands until his host slumped into a heap. Done! And now his time was running out faster than sand in an ancient hourglass.

Del ran through the lounge and a dining area beyond. The tiny bridge was next, the same place it would be on a Skolian yacht.

A male voice spoke in Highton, the language of the Aristos, using the clipped tones of a ship's EI. "You are identified as a valued guest, but please explain yourself."

Del inhaled with relief.
Explain yourself.
It didn't just attack. Tarex had probably told the EI to accommodate Del; otherwise, it would have denied him access to the bridge. It would never occur to an Aristo that an empath, which Aristos viewed as the lowest form of humanity, would attack the ship. Their arrogance about their power was also their weakness. But the EI was undoubtedly contacting Tarex right at this moment.

"Bronzeson needs help," Del told it as he strode to the controls at the pilot's chair. Hieroglyphics covered them, but he couldn't read Highton any more than Iotic.

"You knocked out Bronzeson," the ship said. It had to be an expensive EI, to use idiom so well.

"No, I was helping him." Del leaned over a panel with a menu of holos and started flicking them in sequences he would use on a Skolian yacht.

"Stop turning off my systems," the EI said. A siren went off, and other alarms were undoubtedly notifying the authorities. Even if Del had known the yacht well, he couldn't neutralize its security fast enough to stop the warnings. Redundancy existed in its systems to prevent exactly what he was trying to do.

He deactivated systems as fast as he could, and tied up life support and environmental controls so it couldn't use them to counteract him. But the EI soon locked him out, and probably also blocked the transmitter in his body. Del spun around and ran out of the bridge. He could feel the mind of the half-Aristo clearly now, which meant the officer was nearby, probably headed here to find out what the hell was going on. The yacht was big enough for Del to avoid him by sensing the man's crushing mental cavity. That worked because Del had turned off the monitors that would let the officer find him, but they wouldn't stay off for long.

Del found a small cargo bay crammed with crates, trolleys, and cranes, all in blue chrome and Luminex. He knelt by a hatch in the middle of the deck. Its menus were similar to those on a Skolian ship, and he went through them quickly. But when he flicked what he thought was the final holicon, a voice said, "You must unfasten the l-bars to open the hatch."

"The what?" Del asked. The hatch didn't answer, which probably meant he had just said something wrong.

It took him three more tries to release the hatch, precious seconds he couldn't waste. As the hatch slid open, he practically threw himself down the ladder. It was colder in the hold below. He jumped to the deck, strode to where the cold storage unit should be--and it wasn't there.

Damn! He saw nothing in the cramped hold resembling the heavy door and circular handle he expected. As he searched, his pulse ratcheted up so high, he felt ready to burst. He found a vacuum compartment behind a stack of crates, but no cold unit. He didn't have time! Even if he located Staver right this second, they would have trouble getting out of the yacht.

As Del ran to the ladder, he looked one last time at the bulkhead where he had expected to find the cold storage unit. It hit him then; it wasn't identical to the other surfaces in the hold. It looked heavier.

Del strode to the wall and pounded on it. If space existed beyond, he couldn't tell; the barrier was too thick to reveal any secrets. He ran his palms over it, his heartbeat racing. He was an idiot, wasting valuable time on a blank wall--

A menu popped up in front of him. He recognized it, yes, this one should open the door--

Nothing!

Del wanted to shout his frustration. He went through the steps that had unfastened the l-bars on the hatch above. A loud click came from somewhere--and a portal in the bulkhead swung open. A wave of icy air blasted Del.

"Gods almighty," a man whispered.

Del made a choked sound. Staver was wedged into the unit on his side, with his knees drawn up to fit in the cramped space. Del had no time to be gentle as he pulled him out, and he felt Staver's agony. He gritted his teeth, knowing that the Trader officer had probably been sitting down here, drugged out of his mind on Staver's pain.

Staver stumbled as he tried to stand up. "How--?"

"I knocked on the door." Del grabbed Staver as the exec crumpled. "You're too heavy for me to carry. Can you walk?"

Staver staggered with him to the ladder. "Anything." Alarms were blaring throughout the ship. "Where is Kryxson?"

"If you mean the sadist who was down here, I'd bet he just found Bronzeson in the lounge."

"Why no gas . . . knock us out?"

"I turned it off." Del started to help him up the ladder, but then realized Kryxson was probably headed back here. The Trader officer could reach this ladder faster than Staver could struggle to the top.

"This won't work." Del pulled him away. "Wait here."