Diamond Star (6 page)

The general spoke wryly. "I'm not that out of it, Mac. We'll get someone who fits in. He can be part of--what do you call it? Del's staff."

"His team. He doesn't have one yet."

"Good. You can set it up," Fitz said. "We'll also need to implant a tracker in his body."

"He already has one."

Fitz snorted. "For all the good it does us. He isn't about to give us the key to one his own people put in him."

Mac could imagine Del's explosion at the idea of yet another invasion of his privacy. "He'll never agree to a second one."

"See if you can convince him. And we need Del to let his family know he's staying on Earth of his own free will."

Mac almost groaned. It would be easier to convince Del to roll naked in a hill of fire ants than to talk to his family. "I'll try. But I can't make any promises on that."

Fitz's gaze never wavered. "We'll be depending on you."

Mac had felt before as if the roof were sagging; now it was caving in. Not only did he have to worry about Del loose in the holo-vid industry, but Fitz wanted him personally responsible for the prince.
Damn it, I'm a civilian.
He could walk out on this. But if he did, he would antagonize people he had no wish to alienate, starting with a top-ranked general. Besides, he already felt responsible for Del.

Mac took a breath. "All right. I'll do my best."

He just hoped it didn't all come crashing down on him.

Del's living room balcony overlooked the glistening expanse of a river. In the distance, across the water, the Naval Academy basked in rays of the setting sun. The interplay of the aged light and rippled water fascinated Del.

"Brighter than the crystal caves," Del sang softly. "Sunlight glancing on the waves." He used English because he finally had a good reason to learn it. Someone wanted to sell his songs.

He kept expecting the woman Ricki to contact him and say they had made a mistake, that they weren't interested after all. Or that other person would tell him, the man. A vice president for technology, mechanicals, and media? What the blazes did that mean? Mac said "mechanicals" was a term from long ago, when mechanical devices played music. But then, Mac also claimed the deal with Prime-Nova was binding even though he hadn't finished negotiating it. To Del, it all felt as ephemeral as mist under a morning sun.

A chime sounded inside the living room, through the open doorway. With a sigh, Del turned from the gorgeous sunset and went back into his quarters.

"Lumos up," he said as he crossed to the console against the far wall. The lights brightened.

The console should have showed who contacted him, but no image floated above the comm screen. That was odd. No one knew how to reach him here except military officers, certain highly placed members of Earth's government, and Mac. Whenever his family contacted him, they had to go through lengthy protocols complicated by the fact that they all knew Earth's military was monitoring every word.

Del rolled his shoulders, working out muscle kinks. "Claude?"

"Good evening," Claude answered. He was an EI, or evolving intelligence, that the military had installed on Del's console. Del had named the EI after Claude Debussy, his favorite among the Earth composers he had so far discovered. He never felt inspired to name AIs, or artificial intelligences, which only simulated emotions, but EIs were more aware. Although he couldn't pick up their moods, they genuinely seemed to experience them. So he named the EIs.

"Who commed me?" he asked.

"I don't know," Claude said. "The comm originates in Washington, D.C., but its ID is hidden."

"Strange." Del squinted at the console. Its comm light was still glowing, which meant the mystery person hadn't cut the line. So he said, "Respond."

After a pause, Del said, "Hello?"

"Del!" A sultry female voice floated into the air. "Heya, babe."

Heya, babe?
What did that mean? She sounded like the woman who had offered him the contract. With a sinking sensation, he realized he had celebrated too soon. They were going to withdraw the offer.

"Hello, Miss Varento," Del said.

Her throaty laugh wrapped around him. Any other time, that sensual response would have attracted him. Today, he could only think how much he didn't want to hear whatever she had to say next.

"Call me Ricki," she said. "After all, we're going to be working together."

Working together.
Working together.
Del let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Del?" she asked.

"Do you mind if I put you on visual?" he asked.

"I'd love that, babe."

A smile spread on his face. Babe, indeed. Her husky voice reminded him of the voluptuous body under that flimsy dress she had been wearing today. What inspired her to refer to him as an infant, he had no clue, but what the hell. She could talk to him that way all day if she wanted. Especially if she wore that dress.

He touched a panel, and a screen rose before him. It shimmered blue and cleared to show a starlit room with windows for walls. Beyond them, the nighttime wonderland of a city glistened in gem lights, with the mag-rail adding luminous curves to the skyline. Del found it hard to believe that long ago, buildings in Washington, D.C. had never been more than a few stories high. Now those graceful towers soared. After spending his life in a rural community, the view took his breath.

Ricki was sitting at a tall table just big enough for two people, wearing a slinky black dress that did even better things for Del's imagination than her outfit this afternoon. Her yellow hair fell to her shoulders and framed her sweet face.

More pleasant thoughts replaced Del's earlier concerns. "So what are you doing, Ricki, all by yourself?"

"I'm in a private room on top of the Star Tower Sheraton." Her voice purred. "I was thinking this would be just the place to celebrate your new relationship with Prime-Nova." A pout touched her face. "But you're there and I'm here."

"Celebrations," Del murmured, "are better with two people."

She sipped her drink, her lips molding to the glass. Then she licked away the moisture. "If you come soon enough, I'll be here."

Del wondered if she offered to celebrate this way with all her new acts. He couldn't sense her mood from here; his empathic ability depended on her brain waves, which could only affect him close up. He might be fooling himself, but he didn't think such "celebrations" were her usual mode. Then again, maybe he should hope she was that casual about her relationships. Then she wouldn't expect more of a commitment than he could give. Ricki was the kind of woman you enjoyed for the night, like a fine wine. Del smiled. No, not wine. Whiskey.

His voice deepened, thickening his accent. "Maybe I come celebrate with you."

"Talk like that," Ricki murmured, "and I may stay here all night." She took another swallow of her drink. "Ciao, baby." With that, she cut the connection.

He laughed, shaking his head. "Chow baby?"

An idea came to him and he smiled. He would wear those pants that had flustered his female interrogator so much, she forgot her questions. He hadn't figured out why they affected her that way, but he had sensed her response the moment he entered the room.

It would be interesting to see what happened when he tried to leave the base tonight.

The maglev stop in the Annapolis complex was underground. No trains actually went there; the real station was outside the base. A whiz-car took people to the edge of the base, where they could leave the grounds and board the maglev.

Del rode in a single-seater with the bubble open so he could relax while the wind tossed his hair. He had on his leather jacket. The Allied military had grudgingly bought it for him when he pointed out they cut him off from his personal funds by denying him access to the interstellar meshes. He needed a jacket. So rather than letting him use the offworld meshes, they paid for the jacket. It was ridiculous. He could buy a million jackets with his personal funds. If he did manage to see Ricki tonight, he could ask her for access to an offworld mesh. It irked him just as much, though, that he had those funds only because he was a member of the Ruby Dynasty. So if Earth's military didn't buy his jackets, the Ruby Dynasty did. Either way it bothered him. If this holo-vid business worked out, he might earn his own money. Then he'd buy his jackets with his own income.

After the car stopped at the edge of the base, Del swung out and strolled to the automated guard booth. The voice of an AI came out of a panel on its front. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but you aren't cleared to leave the base."

"I have to go," Del said. "I have an appointment."

Silence followed his words. Then the AI said, "One moment."

Del grinned. He'd actually flummoxed it this time.

A new voice came out of the comm. "Your Highness, this is General Fitz McLane. I understand you wish to leave the base?"

Hah.
The AI had called in the big gun. "That's right," Del said. "I have meeting with my producer."

"At night?" The general didn't hide his skepticism.

"She's at the Star Tower Sheraton."

"She?"

Del regarded the comm smugly, well aware the general could see him even if he couldn't see Fitz. "Yeah. She."

"It isn't safe for you to travel alone."

"I'm a grown man, General. I take care of myself."

"You're also a Ruby Heir," Fitz said. "Anything that happens to you could significantly impact relations between our peoples."

Del crossed his arms. "But holding me prisoner
won't
impact those relations?"

The ensuing silence surprised him. The last time he had used that line, the general had given him some drill about "establishing a baseline database we can use to determine the optimum approach in our interface with the Skolian institutions most affected by your presence on Earth." Which as far as Del could tell, was Fitz-speak for "tell us Skolian secrets." Fitz's silence made Del wonder if the Skolian government had stepped up their pressure to let him go.

"I'll send you a flycar," Fitz said. "With a pilot and a bodyguard. They will take you to your appointment and bring you back."

Del tried to look innocent, just to annoy Fitz. "What if I don't come back tonight?"

The general answered sourly. "As long as you don't mind having your guards in the room."

"But I do mind."

"That's unfortunate, then."

For flaming sake. He couldn't enjoy his evening if he had Marines hulking over him. "I suppose I can contact Ricki. Tell her that General Fitz McLane insists I bring his thugs with me. Ah. My apology. I have problem with English. I mean bodyguard."

"Can it, Valdoria." Fitz sounded as irritated as Del felt with him. It just annoyed Del more. Fitz could have activated the visual. Leaving Del staring at nothing was another way of Fitz asserting his authority.

After a while, Del said, "General?"

"I'm sending Mac Tyler to meet you," Fitz said. "With the flycar and guards."

Del blinked. "All right." Mac he could deal with.

* * *

"That isn't the point!" Mac looked as if he wanted to shake Del. They were sitting in the back seat of the flycar. The night sped by outside the window behind Mac, sparkling with gold and white lights as they soared over the city.

"I don't care about the damn guards," Mac said. "They can't protect you from the real danger. She's a barracuda, Del. She'll devour you."

Del smiled. "I have no idea what is barracuda."

"It's a vicious fish with big jaws that eats little fish."

Del was relaxed on the other end of the seat. It was a nice car, upholstered in ruddy colors with comfortable cushions. The pilot and a Marine were up front, pretending they couldn't hear every word Mac and Del said.

"Ricki," Del told him, "is definitely not a fish."

"Quit smirking like a tomcat licking his chops," Mac told him. "And don't say you don't know what that means. You figured it out the first time you saw one of those cats prowling around the base. You've been on a farm your whole life, Del, surrounded by sweet country girls. You have no idea what you're letting yourself in for if you meet Ricki tonight."

Del couldn't help but laugh. "If anyone but you say that to me, I probably sock him in the face. What, you think I am some innocent she can shred? I have a flash for you. Us farm folk are not so naive as you think." In a less amused voice, he added, "And I was never sweet."

Mac let out a breath. "If I gave insult, I apologize. But I would tell anyone this. Stay away from her."

"Why?" Del asked, genuinely curious. "What you think she will do to me?"

"She'll use you like a new toy," Mac said. "When she gets tired of you, she'll drop you faster than a child drops a glass vase. She won't care what breaks."

Del shrugged. "I'm going to meet a beautiful, intriguing woman for a night. Nothing more. I don't
want
anything more." After a moment, he said, "I am not capable of more."

Mac answered quietly. "You're capable of a great deal."

Del didn't want to talk about it. "Maybe she really just want to talk business."

"Yeah, right."

"You never know."

"Del, listen. She moves in a crowd you want to stay away from. They're beautiful, fast-living, wealthy--and toxic. The drugs alone will scorch your brain, and that doesn't touch the other bizarre stuff they're into."

Del's good mood faded. "The drugs don't matter. Not the alcohol, either. Neither affects me."

Mac didn't look the least convinced. "I don't care how high your tolerance is. Anyone can get drilled."

Del
really
didn't want to go into this. But he owed it to Mac, who had changed his life today and agreed to negotiate for him despite how much he wanted Del to refuse that contract. Del knew. Mac's apprehension had been so strong, it had come through even when Del had his empathic shields at full force.

Del switched into the Skolian Flag so he wouldn't struggle as much just to speak. "I don't have a high tolerance. I
can't
get drunk, and certain drugs don't affect me, particularly Metropoli-line hallucinogens and neuro-psillic amphetamines. I carry several nanomed series in my body that deactivate drugs and alcohol."