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.”