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beaded on Mac's forehead. If they were following the usual procedures, this conversation was being recorded and the offer would be binding on them if he agreed. Mac knew he should be jumping at the opportunity. But blast it, he couldn't.
    The hum of the lift vibrated in the booth, followed by the whisper of its door opening. Mac had one moment to panic before Del walked through the gold shimmer to their right.
    "Hey, Mac." Del grinned. "The acoustics in that room, you not believe it. They are being incredible."
    "Del, hello." Zachary stepped past Mac and extended his hand. "It's good to meet you. I'm Zachary Marksman, Vice President of Technology, Mechanicals, and Media."
    After the slightest pause, Del shook his hand. "Hello."
    Mac recognized Del's hesitation. The youth's parents may have raised their children in a rural community, but Del wasn't naive, not by a long shot. He knew vice presidents didn't just show up and introduce themselves for no reason. Suspicion flickered in his eyes, the knowledge of a prince whose acquaintance many people coveted for the status it brought them. It was ironic, because Zachary lived in the same type of world, where hopeful artists would do anything for that handshake he had just offered Del.
    "We were discussing our contract offer with Mac," Ricki said smoothly. "He says he needs to discuss it with you."
    Del looked from Ricki to Zachary. To Ricki. To Mac. Back to Ricki. Mac didn't miss the way Del's gaze skimmed over her voluptuous body and lingered on her face. Damn.
    "What contract offer?" Del asked.
    Ricki eased past Zachary, right up to Del. The vice president stepped back, giving her room to work. "Two cubes," Ricki purred. "Holo-vid and virt. And opening for Mind Mix in concert. Like it?"
    "Del," Mac warned. "Don't answer. Your responses are being recorded. A yes could be interpreted as a binding contract." He doubted Del had a clue what they were talking about, but it didn't matter as long as the prince kept his mouth shut. Otherwise, Del could end up committing himself to Prime-Nova indenture.
    Del's forehead furrowed. "I don't understand."
    "I told them you and I need to talk it over," Mac said.
    "Talk what over?" Del frowned at him, then focused on Ricki. "You want my music?" Although his voice was guarded, Mac could hear the incredulity that lay under that neutral tone.
    "That's right." Ricki tapped his chest with her manicured fingernail, the blood-red polish bright against Del's snowy shirt. "We want your songs. And you. On stage. With Mind Mix."
    "What is mind mix?" Del asked.
    Silence greeted him. Mac didn't know whether to laugh or groan. A smile spread across Ricki's face, smooth and all too knowing, the master player sizing up an innocent lamb. "You probably don't hear them out in the edge colonies. They sing, Del. A great band. The best. And you could open for them."
    "You mean sing on stage, before they come out?" Del asked.
    "That's right." She splayed her hand on his chest, and he looked down, his lashes lowering over his eyes. In her sultriest voice, she added, "Would you like that?"
    "Don't answer her." Mac stepped up and pushed away her hand.
    She glanced indolently at Mac, then back at Del. "There's one catch, honey. You have to give us an answer now."
    "Ricki," Mac warned.
    Del considered him. "They want me to sing on one of those holo-vids, right? And as a warm-up for this other group?"
    Mac felt as if the roof were about to fall on him. "That's right."
    Del's face was hard to read. He was as guarded now with Mac as with the others. When he turned to Ricki, his eyes glinted. "Yes," he said, his voice deepening. "I do it."
    "Damn it, Del!" Mac grabbed his arm and pulled him across the booth. He spoke in a low voice. " Don't say anything else. A deal like this has to be negotiated."
    Del regarded him with a coldness he had never shown Mac before. "I need an expert to talk with them. You do this? Yes or no?"
    Mac raked his hand through his hair. "Of course I'll do