The Stardance Trilogy (88 page)

“Wow, suppose your parents really liked the Oz books, and they picked ‘Wiz’ for your last name? I have this friend named Duncan Iowa, because his parents—” They drifted away together; Colly forgot to say goodbye to Jay.

As soon as they were out of eyeshot, Jay made a beeline for the area where Rand, Rhea and Duncan had been towed and secured. A banded employee whose name Jay couldn’t recall was trying to
ID
them so that they could be processed. “Those two are mine,” he said. “Family.”

“Fine by me, Sasaki-
sama
,” she said respectfully. “Wrap ’em up and take ’em home. What about the Orientator?”

After a split-second’s hesitation, Jay said, “Process him.”

“You got it.” Duncan would regain consciousness in the presence of a proctor, receive a ringing lecture—and a large black mark would be entered on his record. It might even be a firing offense, if the cause of the fight had been what Jay suspected it was. His first instinct had been to cover for Duncan…but if it turned out that his brother had not had some good reason to take a poke at the boy, the record could always be jiggered retroactively.

“How’re you fixed for antidote?” he asked the woman.

She started to say something, then shrugged and tossed him a pair of infusers from her pouch.

He towed the sleeping Rhea and Rand slowly to the “P” section—an awkward task, especially in a crowd, but not difficult for a dancer. On the way he thought things through; when he got there he left Rhea in the care of the banded employee in charge, told him to let her sleep for now. Then he located a glowing letter whose adherents chanced to include few children and none near Colly’s age, and towed Rand there. He Velcroed his brother to a support, bared his arm, triggered the infuser, and backed off a few meters.

Rand woke as quickly and seamlessly as he had fallen asleep—and looked around wildly for his opponent and prepared another punch. In moments the world snapped back into focus for him. He groaned; his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Then he drew in breath for what was going to be a great bellow of either anger or grief—but by then Jay was close again, and clapped a hand over his brother’s mouth.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You don’t want to get dosed twice. You might—” Some mental censor made him decide not to name the most common consequence of a double-sedation: temporary impotence. “—regret it. Calm down…and tell me what happened.” He took his hand away.

Again Rand slumped, this time all the way into free-fall crouch, a position halfway to fetal. He said nothing for long moments.

Jay already knew the general shape of what Rand was probably going to say, but it was important that Rand say it. “Well?”

His brother looked up with the expression of a man who has just lost a limb, and is trying to integrate the intellectual knowledge with his emotions. “When I got there…they were together.”

Jay thought of six or seven things to say, hundreds of words. “So?” was the one he chose.

Rand struggled to keep his voice down. “Come on, Jay, do I have to show you a graphic?” he said in strangled tones.

Jay frowned. “You caught them in the act? They ignored a Class Three alert? I don’t believe it!”
Even if it really happened,
he thought,
there simply
had
to be time for them to at least throw a goddam robe on—they’re dressed now, for Christ’s sake!—and if they did, there’s no way to
prove
anything—this can still be fixed—

“They were fully dressed. It took me nearly two full minutes to get there. But Jesus, Jay—
I’ve got a fucking nose
, okay? I’ve got eyes. It happened. Something happened.”

“—and you don’t know just what. Do you?” When there was no answer he rushed on. “It could have been a passing thought, a fleeting temptation, and some very bad timing, okay? It happened to me once: I was flirting, like you do, you know…and just as I started to realize it was getting to be more than just flirting, just as I was deciding to back off, his wife came in and caught us both with boners. It didn’t mean a thing; it blew over. There’s no way to be sure this meant anything. Give her a chance to explain, when she’s over the embarrassment.”

Rand looked away. “I will.” He looked back again. “But Jay, I’ve lived with her for ten years. I’ve seen her look embarrassed. I’ve even seen her look guilty. But this is the first time I’ve
ever
seen her look ashamed. I already know all I want to know. And I thank you for your counsel and support, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would leave me the fuck alone now, so I don’t have a fight with you, okay? Wait—where’s Colly?”

“She’s covered,” Jay said. “Take it off your mind. I’ll go get her as soon as I wake Rhea up. You sure you’ll be okay here?”

“No, but moving won’t help. Go.”

“Listen to this when you’re ready,” Jay said, handing Rand his own ear-button. “It’ll tell you the procedures.” And he left his brother alone to mourn.

As Jay was returning to “P” section, he found himself humming a tune in a minor key, and suddenly recognized it as a nearly century-old Stevie Wonder song called “Blame It on the Sun.” The irony was too unsubtle for his conscious mind; he stopped humming. He knew he should be sad for his brother, he intended to be as soon as he could, but for now he was numb. Too much going on; too much still to do; an eight-year-old still his nominal responsibility—to whom this all must somehow be explained before much longer. Then, three days or more locked in a can with the problem. His head began to throb.

Rhea came out of it as quickly as Rand had—and began blushing the moment she focused on Jay’s face.

“What happened?” he asked. “No, forget that:
how much did he see?
How much can he prove?”

Her eyes widened as she took his meaning. “Oh, Jay—”

He turned away. “Dammit, Rhea…dammit to hell…
fuck
it to hell—”

“Where’s Colly?”

“Having a jolly time in the company of a very nice lady, meeting other kids,” he said bitterly. “I’d say we have at least another ten minutes before you’re going to have to explain to her why Mommy and Daddy aren’t talking to each other. And why Uncle Duncan has a bruise on his chin. But you’re a writer: I’m sure you can improvise something.”

“She doesn’t call him ‘Uncle Duncan,’” she said absurdly. And then: “Oh…my…God…”

“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE,” said a loud and omnipresent voice. It repeated twice, as the hubbub dwindled, then went on, “WE ARE VERY PLEASED TO REPORT THAT THE CLASS THREE FLARE ALERT WAS A FALSE ALARM—REPEAT, THE ALERT WAS A FALSE ALARM.” The hubbub became an uproar; the voice got louder to compensate. “THE EMERGENCY IS OVER. TO MINIMIZE CONFUSION, PLEASE RETURN TO YOUR STATEROOMS BY LETTER-GROUPS, BEGINNING WITH THOSE WHOSE LAST NAMES BEGIN WITH ‘A’ AND THEIR FAMILIES. PLEASE DO NOT TRY TO LEAVE UNTIL ALL THOSE IN THE PRECEDING LETTER-GROUP ARE GONE. THE SHIMIZU APOLOGIZES FOR ANY INCONVENIENCE, AND THANKS YOU ALL FOR YOUR COOPERATION DURING THE EMERGENCY—”

“Jesus Christ—” Jay began.

“Take her home for me, Jay,” Rhea blurted, and jetted away before he could object. She mingled with the crowd whose last names began with “A,” and was lost from sight. Jay stared after her, feeling his headache gather force.

Within moments, Colly appeared, trailing a frantic Xi. “Did they show up yet, Uncle Jay?”

He started to say no automatically. But then he had the thought that in the near future, a lot of people were going to be lying to this child, and he didn’t want to be one of them anymore. “I caught a glimpse of them,” he said, then skated quickly off the thin ice. “But we’ll never find them in this madhouse now. That’s okay; I’m sure we’ll meet them back at your suite”—whoops, hitting thin ice again—“eventually. Say, did you meet any interesting kids?”

“Wow, yeah—I met a boy my own age, named Waldo, and he’s a spacer, like me:
he’s
gonna be here forever too! I never saw him around before because he’s got something wrong with his muscles and he can’t go out and play—but who cares? I can go to
his
house and we can be friends
forever
! I invited him to my birthday party—”

Don’t count on it, pumpkin,
Jay thought, but all he said was, “He sounds nice.”

A lot of people’s plans were going to be changing soon.

He had already left the pool with the rest of the
S’s
, and was in the corridors with Colly, before it sank in:
Kinergy
was going to go on at the appointed time after all…

In common with most of the choreographers who had ever lived, Jay had, two days before curtain, no idea whether he was on the verge of artistic triumph or disaster. It was no longer possible for him to evaluate the work, either objectively or subjectively. He was prepared to take the most ignorant amateur criticism to heart, or discount the most informed professional praise. The final, and only important, verdict would come two nights from now, in the form of applause or its embarrassing absence or—God forbid!—active booing. He burned to know what that verdict would be…and feared to find out. The only thing he knew for certain was that he could definitely have used another week to polish the damned thing. That was why he had welcomed the flare emergency.

And all the fucking emergency had accomplished was to cost him his tech rehearsal—and to shatter his brother’s world.

Well, perhaps there was a relatively bright side to all this—at least from Jay’s point of view. Presumably Rhea would go back dirtside now—that might even be why she had done it. That would leave Rand no real choice but to stay here in space! The only place waiting for him on Terra was Provincetown, Rhea’s town. He’d be miserable for a while, sure…but as Sam Spade had once said, that would pass. He’d heal. A season of his own original work, some media massage courtesy of Ev Martin, a few standing
O
’s…

Oh, shit! Would Rand be in any shape to come to the premiere?

Jay assumed his brother would not make the remaining two days of rehearsals—and that would hurt, but Andrew could probably handle things alone. Jay also knew he would miss Rand’s companionship, his services as a sounding-board, the last-minute inspirations he might have contributed—and that wasn’t fatal either.

But Kate Tokugawa would be livid if Rand did not appear at the premiere. His presence was
required.
All the media would be there. It was a matter of face. Hers, and the Board’s.

In his heart, Jay knew face was as low in Rand’s present scale of values as it was high in Kate’s. Oh, this was more than a tragedy: it had all the makings of a catastrophe…

“I wish that dumb old flare wasn’t a false alarm, Uncle Jay,” Colly said. “That was starting to be fun.”

Guilt tore at his heart. He thought
he
had problems? “Me too, honey,” he said softly, tightening his grip on her small hand. “Me too.”

What the hell am I going to do with her?

“Sergei?” he tried.

Personal AIs were back on-line. “Yes, Jay?” Diaghilev said.

“Excuse me, Colly, I have to check on something with Andrew. Sergei, hush-field, please.” The sounds of the crowd around him went away. “Phone Rand.”

“Not accepting calls, Jay.”

“God dammit, emergency override ‘P-Town’!”

Rhea answered.
“What?”

“What do I do with your daughter?” Jay asked brutally.

There was a short silence. “Can…can you take her? For a while, anyway?”

“What do I tell her?”

He heard Rand say something angry in the background. “…something good, okay?” she said. “Please, brother? I’ll call you when…when we’re ready for her.”

It was the word “brother” that made up his mind. Rhea had never called him that before. She was begging. “Okay.” He was prepared to end the conversation, but could not decide how. Did he say “Good luck”? Instead he said, “I’ll wait for your call. Off.”

Something good, okay?

“Colly, you’re coming home with me. The cronkites want to interview your mom and dad about the flare—you know, celebrity on the spot stuff.”

It was weak; no one had interviewed them after the previous, genuine emergency. But Colly bought it. “Neat! Maybe we can watch it at your house—they’ll probably rush it onto the Net—”

Jay winced. “Well, maybe not right away. It’ll take time to edit, you know—”

“Phone, Jay,” Diaghilev said. “Two calls waiting: Andrew and Francine.”

Jay wished someone would solve brain-cloning. “Colly, excuse me; Sergei, give me both of them; Andrew, Francine, I can’t talk for long right now, but…” His mind raced. “…uh, today’s a wrap. We’ll do the tech rehearsal tomorrow at noon; first dress after supper; final run-through will have to be the afternoon of the performance.”

“Are you sure, Boss?” Francine asked. “We could do the tech tonight—cancel the pony show.”

“No,” Jay said. “After something like this, the cabaret show is
essential
. I won’t be there, but trust me: you’ll never have a better house. They’ll cheer themselves hoarse, and tip like Shriners. Everybody needs to celebrate still being alive”—
well, almost everybody…
—“and not being trapped in a swimming pool for three days. I’ve got to go; I’ll leave my notes from this afternoon with your AIs later and talk with you tomorrow. Off.”

“Calls waiting, Jay: Katherine Tokugawa, Evelyn Martin, Eva Hoffman…and another just coming in, Duncan Iowa.”

“Suffering Jesus! Flush Iowa and Martin, tell Eva I’ll call her back, refuse all further calls, and give me Kate. Greetings, Tokugawa-
sama
—some excitement, eh? I know why you’re calling, and don’t worry: we’ll be ready when the bell rings—”

By the time he had given his boss every reassurance he could counterfeit and gotten her off the phone, he was back home. Once inside, he turned Colly over to the White Rabbit; it checked, learned that Room Service was not yet back on-line, and led her off to Jay’s personal pantry, glancing irritably at its pocket watch, for the stiff peanut-butter and jelly it knew she required. Jay took a deep breath—

—let it out; took another—

—thought longingly of a drink, and retracted all the furniture in his living room, and began to dance. And kept on dancing, ricocheting around the room in great energy-wasting leaps and landings and spins and recoveries, until his body was as exhausted as his brain. He poured all his fear and confusion and guilt and anger into the dance…his irritation with his beloved brother, for picking now to be betrayed…his sneaking sympathy for the bitch who had picked now to put the horns on his brother…his heartbreak for the small child who was about to become a helpless leaf in a storm she would not understand for years…