Diamond Star (9 page)

Del's pulse jumped. Had a problem come up with Prime-Nova? He hadn't sensed anything wrong from Ricki, but he didn't know how things worked here. Maybe he wasn't supposed to sleep with his producer.

"Aphrodite, can you put me through to Mac Tyler's office?" Del asked. "The codes are--"

"I have Mister Tyler's office," she murmured. "Coming up."

Interesting. Mac must be a better front-liner than he let on, if Prime-Nova's penthouse at the top of the Star Tower was set up to reach him so easily. "Do you know Mac?"

"I do now," she said.

"Why now?"

"I've been running analyses on you since Ms. Varento brought you up here last night," Aphrodite said.

A flush heated Del's face. He never interacted with EIs much at home, so he hadn't thought about what they did when people weren't asking them for things. "Analyzing me? For what?"

"Anything. If you asked for your front-liner, for example."

"Oh." Del hesitated. "Is that all you do?"

"I run the hotel." Her voice changed to a man's sensuous bass. "For some guests I manifest as Apollo."

Del had no interest in talking to Apollo. "I like Aphrodite better."

She switched back into her sexy female voice. "I make sure the building runs properly."

"That's a lot of work."

"Not for me." She sounded amused. "When I get bored, I make bets with the EIs from other hotels."

Good gods. "About what?"

"Well, say, what is the quantum probability that all the air molecules in this room will collect under the bed and create a vacuum in the rest of the room. The winner was the one who calculated it the fastest, since none of us would bet on it happening." With pride, she said, "I won."

Del gave a startled laugh. "You mean the air could do that?"

"The probability is infinitesimal. But not utterly zero."

"What do you get for winning?"

"A new problem to work on."

Del smiled wryly. "And you do this for fun?"

"It's entertaining," she said. "Not as much as betting on human behavior, but we aren't allowed to do that."

His face heated. "On humans! What kind of bets?"

"For example, were you going to have reproductive relations with Ms. Varento last night."

The thought of EIs all across Washington, D.C. betting on his sex life was too, too mortifying. "If you could have done it, would you have lost or won?"

"Won," she said pleasantly. "The probability of you two going into the bed was much higher than all the air going under the bed."

Del's face was burning. "You needed quantum theory for that?"

"Oh no, just common sense." Then she added, "Your breakfast is here. Shall I let in the waiter?"

"Yes!" Relieved to escape the subject of his sex life, Del said, "Please do."

A man swept in with a covered tray. Although less formal than the tuxedoed bartender from last night, he wore an elegant white shirt and black slacks. He stood a tray by the console and set out a breakfast that left Del's mouth watering. Then he bowed and withdrew as efficiently as he had entered.

"Now
this
is living." Del picked up a fork and attacked his breakfast.

Del had been wolfing down pancakes for several moments when Aphrodite said, "I have Mister Tyler on the comm."

Del washed down his mouthful with a swallow of orange juice. "Put him on."

A flat screen rose from the console and brought up a view of Mac sitting at his own console, scowling. "What the hell did you do to Ricki?"

"Nothing," Del said. That wasn't true, exactly, but he had thought she liked what he did to her. "Why? Did she change her mind about the contract?"

"For heaven's sake, Del, quit worrying that they'll cancel it. They can't do it that way." Mac glared at him. "She commed me this morning. She wants you to join the Mind Mix tour when they come to Maryland."

Del couldn't see why he was upset. "That's what I agreed to do."

"Not
yet.
They'll be here in one week."

"That's fine with me."

"Do you have any idea what opening for a major act entails?" Mac demanded. "Do you have a show? Have you practiced it? What songs are you going to sing? Have you translated them? What costumes will you need? Do you want musicians onstage or will you use mesh-tech sets? Who's on your crew?"

Del squinted at him. "Given that the answer to most of that is 'I have no idea what you're talking about,' I'd say you're right, I'm not ready."

Relief washed over Mac's face. "No, you're not."

"You'll help me set it up, right?"

Mac's scowl came back. "I don't think you're getting this."

Del's shoulders had tensed up. Mac was beginning to sound like his hard-nose military brother, Kelric, the Imperator. "We have a week."

"You need months."

"Thank you for the vote of confidence," Del said shortly.

"It has nothing to do with confidence." Mac thumped his console. "Don't go all prickly on me, Del. I have no doubt you can do this. But not in one
week.
And when the hell did your English get so much better?"

"My English is better?"

"You're using the tenses right."

Del shrugged. "I learn fast."

"Four weeks ago you could barely
speak
it."

Del didn't want to go into why he picked up spoken language so well, that changes in the genome of his father's ancestors had affected their brains. He had also inherited the price they paid for that facility: an inability to learn
written
language. He had no intention of telling Mac he was illiterate. So he said, "Obviously, then, I can translate enough songs in a week."

"You need to do a lot more than translate songs."

"Like what?"

"A team," Mac said. "A manager, to start with."

"I thought you did that."

"No. I'm your front-liner. I just get you the contract."

Alarm flared through Del. He had expected Mac to stay with him. "You're practically the only person I know outside the base."

Mac exhaled. "General McLane wants me to manage you." He still sounded angry, though Del had a feeling now it was at the general.

"I'll bet you weren't supposed to tell me that," Del said.

"I won't trick you," Mac said. "I'll take the job if you want, but you should know I'll be reporting to the military. And I'm not your best choice. I don't have much experience."

Del spoke without doubt. "I want you."

"You're sure? I can refer you to some of the best."

"Some things are more important than experience. I know you." Del meant,
I trust you,
but he didn't feel ready to say that.

Mac regarded him steadily. "All right. As your manager, I'm telling you that you aren't ready to do a show in one week."

"I don't see why. I just stand there and sing."

Mac leaned forward. "I'm going to send you some vids of live concerts. Immerse yourself in them. Check every angle, all the pull-downs and add-ons. Then tell me what you want for your show."

"All right." Del hesitated. "If I'm not ready, why would Ricki want me to perform?"

"She doesn't know," Mac said. "She says, and I quote, 'He's so hot, he's sizzling. We need to get him out there.' "

Del grinned. "She's the expert."

Mac didn't smile. "You need to tell her you don't have a show. If you don't want to, I can tell her for you."

Del felt as if his family were leaning over him, convinced he would fail or afraid that if he demanded too much of himself, it would kill him, because he would buckle under the stress and turn to drugs. Then he imagined Ricki--beautiful, sensual Ricki--looking at him with that same disappointment. He would no longer be the mystery guest in her Star Tower, he would be a failure. Again.

"I can do this," he said. "Don't tell her I can't."

"Del, you don't--"

"I mean it, Mac."

"Fine." Mac braced his palms on his console as if he were steeling himself for a fight. "If you're performing in a week, we need to finalize your contract. Which means you have to contact your family."

Del stiffened. "What the hell for? I don't need their damn permission to sign a contract."

"The legal age of majority here is twenty-five."

"So?"

"You need proof of your age. You look like a teenager."

"Maybe. But I'm not."

Mac regarded him in exasperation. "You don't
have
proof."

"The doctors at Annapolis can verify my age."

"Don't you think Prime-Nova will wonder why the military is providing proof?" Mac shook his head. "And I'm not sure they would do it. Only half the tests place your age as twenty-six. The others are inconclusive or put you as younger."

Del was growing uncomfortable. "I spent some time in a cryowomb after I--" He stumbled on the words. "After I died. It took a while for them to fix the damage to my body. That's why some tests come out strange." He had never fully understood the science, something about cell division and telomeres and teeth. The doctors used different ways to test his age, and the cryogenesis had slowed them at slightly different rates.

"Ricki says if you can't prove your age, their doctors will have to verify it," Mac told him. "They'll come up with the same inconsistencies. Prime-Nova won't risk that ambiguity."

Del couldn't believe it. "This is ridiculous! Where I grew up, people are considered adults at sixteen."

Mac lifted his hands, then dropped them. "I understand. But by modern standards, you practically
are
a child. The average human lifespan is one hundred and twenty years, and it's getting longer. The number of people younger than twenty-five is a small fraction of the population, which makes you seem even younger to most people. Prime-Nova won't risk the public relations debacle of appearing to exploit a naive farm boy." He spoke flatly. "And Ricki is protecting herself. Whatever you two did last night, I don't want to know. But if you're underage, she could get in trouble."

Del didn't know whether to laugh or groan. "If your people think a man isn't ready for sex until he's twenty-five, you need a reality check."

"Eighteen is the age of consent," Mac said. When Del snorted, Mac added, "I'm not interested in what you or anyone else did in his youth. Just the law."

"It didn't stop Ricki last night."

"She believes you," Mac said. "But you need proof to sign the contract."

Del didn't know what to say. He couldn't just order a copy of his birth certificate. It identified him as a Ruby prince. Given how annoyed the Skolian Assembly was with the Allieds right now, they would probably tie themselves into knots of suspicion if Del suddenly asked for documentation of his age.

Of course, his family could send him what he needed without revealing his identity. But the thought of asking for their help in proving his age when they treated him like an irresponsible child was more than he could stomach.

"There has to be another way," Del said.

"You could find your own doctor," Mac said. "If a reputable physician gives you verification, Prime-Nova will accept it."

"Can you help me set it up?"

"I can," Mac said. "But you should know. Allied Space Command will do whatever they can to access the doctor's report."

Del raised an eyebrow. "I thought medical reports here were confidential unless the patient approved their release."

"They are." Mac regarded him steadily. "I would never suggest they would try to circumvent that confidentiality."

Right. It seemed he couldn't get away from people who wanted to interfere in his life. "Great," he muttered.

"It's up to you," Mac said. "If you still want to do this, given that, I'll help you find a physician Prime-Nova will accept."

"You don't have to tell General McLane I went to a doctor."

Mac spoke quietly. "I have to. I'm sorry."

His answer didn't surprise Del. He didn't always like what Mac had to say, but Del had never doubted his honesty.

"I still want to do it," Del said. The contract was too important to give up just because the Allied military might discover his medical history was a disaster.

"All right." Mac took a breath. "And Del."

He regarded Mac warily. "Yes?"

"ASC wants to put a tracker in your body."

"Hell, no!"

"It's for your safety."

"No!"

"They aren't going to relent on this."

Del gritted his teeth until it hurt. He knew they would keep at him about it, wearing him down with arguments. He made himself stop gnashing his teeth and forced out the words. "What if I give you the codes to the one the Skolian military put in me?"

Mac looked relieved. "That would be fine." He still seemed uncomfortable, though.

"There's more?" Del asked.

Mac cleared his throat. "You have to comm your family."

Del smacked his palm on the console. "Prime-Nova can't insist on that if I prove I'm an adult even by their ridiculous standards."

"It isn't Prime-Nova who insists. It's Fitz McLane."

Del scowled at him. "General McLane can go to hell."

"If you don't contact your family," Mac said, "he'll do it using official military channels."

"What the blazes for? It's
my
life. That's none of his business."

"It's
not
just your life." Mac took a breath. "If you don't tell your family that you're staying here of your own choice, the tension between your people and ours will continue to escalate."

He hated knowing Mac was right. "Well, damn."

"Del."

"I'll do it. But I won't tell them about the music contract." Del willed him to understand. "Mac, give me your word none of you will tell them, okay? If I fail here, I don't want my family to know." It would reaffirm how little they thought of him.

Mac didn't look surprised. "You have my word. And I think McLane will be fine with it. But, Del, we'll only remain silent if we feel it doesn't endanger you."

"Fair enough." Del glanced with longing at his breakfast, then turned back to Mac. "And you'll send me those vids?"

"Right away. Come by my office after you look at them."

"All right. See you then."