Remember my Heart - 5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

SOMEONE had seen them. Gus supposed he wasn’t all that surprised. While Power kept the press outside their doors, they couldn’t stop reporters and paparazzi from camping out on their doorstep or prowling the streets. It hadn’t taken them long to recognize famous pop star Little D or the dark-skinned offworlder in his arms. The picture had made the morning news, but Gus hadn’t seen because he’d been too busy with the strangely compelling man in his bed.

He shivered as he recalled the wide, strong hands on his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken up in bed with a stranger. And Little D no less!

The official word from both the Mori and Sato clans was “no comment.” The truth was pretty unbelievable, which didn’t really account for why he’d agreed to even consider this insanity. But it was Little D, and he knew things that Gus had never told anyone, like the nightmares he’d suffered after his parents died and how Gus hadn’t really chosen to come to Mars. His paternal grandparents had no interest in letting him live with them. They’d never approved of their son’s marriage to a Martian.

He had time, so Gus sat down at the small table in the main room of his apartment. A touch and the surface became transparent. He typed in the access codes on the virtual keyboard and waited. The connection was slow, but eventually the computer connected to Dream City’s mainframe. The screen saver faded from a satellite view of Mars to Gus’s desktop view, one of those standard blue ones with no personality.

He didn’t have many icons and quickly navigated to his personal documents. Most of the things stored there were too painful to peruse. Then there was the folder he couldn’t open. Whatever was in there came from those sixth months of his life that he’d lost.

When he tapped on the folder, the password prompt popped up. Gus licked his lips. There was something Dee had said that made Gus wonder if he’d just stumbled on the password. His fingers twinged with discomfort as he typed. Hitting the last key, he held his breath.

It opened! Gus leaned forward to stare at a half-dozen sub-folders. The most recent last modified date was the same day as the accident. Gus opened that folder and found another music file, still untitled. There was more music in the other folders, including one with the same title as the song Dee sang earlier that morning.

“I really did write that.” Gus wasn’t sure if he wanted to be impressed or disgusted. Believe was pop drivel at its best. The music was simple and repetitive, the lyrics actually rhymed, and the -- “Oh, wait.” His composition was not the one playing on the music channels. From the date, he’d written his song first, so either Dee was telling the truth or Gus had somehow gotten the music ahead of its release.

Bringing up the appropriate program, Gus set the music files to play while he browsed the other folders. There were legal documents in one, just like a copy of his band’s contract. Just looking at all the jargon gave Gus a headache. He quickly closed the folder and opened the last one. This folder contained media files.

A few commands set the computer to auto-scan, showing the photos and videos one at a time. He cupped his hand over his mouth at what he saw.

A crazy beat started the first video, chattering and laughing so close to the camera that the speaker couldn’t differentiate between conversations. Colors flashed and whirled with the dancers on the floor. Hands emerged from the crowd, pointing, as voices were raised in shouts and cheers. The camera whirled around.

Gus entered the nightclub wearing his characteristic tight, black polymer pants and what he laughingly called his ten-ton boots because they were so heavy. A sleeveless, mesh shirt clung to his torso, giving tantalizing glimpses of his dark skin through the open flaps of his floor-length coat. His long hair was braided back to hang halfway down his back, but the top whooshed up and out theatrically. He turned and waved, smiling into the camera. He’d gone all out tonight with the stage make-up. There was no chance of him being mistaken for anyone but the rock star Angus McKenna, Dawn’s front man.

Next to Gus strode Jun, Gus’s best friend and band mate.

Gus rolled his eyes. From what he could tell from the shaky video, Jun had been well on his way to being wasted. That indicated he’d been fighting with his girlfriend.

The crowd pressing close to Gus and Jun parted, showing another familiar face: Chang Myon.

What was he doing there? Gus remembered having to bribe Chang with pie just to get him out of his apartment. He was an amazing guitarist with whom Gus had been casual friends. He’d thought no one would ever coax Chang out of the studio and into a real band, and yet when Little D premiered, Chang was the first person named in the band.

The crowd mobbed the trio, but Gus fought his way through without stopping.

That was unusual, too, because Gus had enjoyed working the crowd. As a celebrity, his height and coloring was an asset, something prized as unique rather than ostracized for being different.

But why was he dressed up? When Gus went out, he went incognito, and was that -- it was! The bar he glimpsed for just a second could only belong to the nightclub where he now worked. In fact, that spiky, multi-colored hair belonged to his boss, Mandi.

The camera jumped, jostled by the crowd and fighting to stay close to Gus as he jumped onto the stage to a roar of approval from the swelling crowd.

"Heya!" he cried into the microphone, flipping his characteristic two-thumbs-up before grinning and winking. “Let’s dance!”

Throwing wide his arms, he leaned back, giving a loud holler, and then spinning around to face the double-facing synthesizers. One was empty, but at the other one stood a man with short, pink hair standing out around his head like a giant, pink cotton ball. His eyes glittered with make-up surrounded by his trademark kohl lines.

Gus gave Dee a thumbs-up; they turned to their instruments and began to play.

Gus was well aware of Dee’s talent, but the video captured something truly amazing. He watched their fingers dance along the keys faster and faster, grinning with all the joy Gus remembered on his worst days. When the camera panned over the crowd, he saw the energy of the dance floor, surrounded by people cheering and screaming, and he could remember none of it.

Gus slapped a hand over the screen and turned it off. He was breathing hard when he stood on shaky legs and went into the kitchen. He ran water in the sink and just stared at it. That person on the video might as well be a stranger, for that part of his life had been ripped away. The sink blurred in front of his eyes and he fought to catch his breath, sliding to the floor and wrapping his arms around his legs.

Unable to keep away, Gus went back to his computer and played another file, this time audio only. This one was apparently a practice session. He recognized his voice and Dee with the synth filling in other parts.

“I don’t like that verse; I should change it,” Gus heard his voice say, distant and kind of bouncy, as if he was chewing on the end of a stylus. That had always been a bad habit.

Dee sighed. His voice sounded tired and kind of hoarse. “Fine, then let’s sing it again.”

“We should take a break.”

“No, I want to get this right.”

“You really can’t do everything all at once, you know. You’re going to kill yourself if you keep up this pace.”

“Shut up and just sing.”

The music started up again from the chorus, and then the beginning of the new verse: “In your eyes, I see the night ….”

The synth faded and Gus’s voice sang louder, “So, please, baby, baby, don’t bite.”

“That’s not how it goes!” Dee’s voice was outraged.

“Just trying something different.”

“You are not writing that.”

“Maybe I like it.”

“I am so going to beat you,” Dee growled, a low, menacing tone that sent shivers down Gus’s back, but his voice on the recording laughed, deep and throaty.

This was followed by the sounds of a scuffle, and then other noises that had Gus’s hand flipping off the recording. He stuck his face in his palms, letting the cool skin soothe his hot face.

Dee hadn’t lied; the recording was proof enough of the history between them. Gus took a quick breath that even to his own ears sounded like a sob.

HE was grateful for his sunglasses later when he arrived at work. His coworkers all had to touch him, it seemed, grabbing his shoulder, his hands, smothering him in hugs and jostling him this way and that. Grateful as he was to see he was missed and that he’d worried everyone, how could he tell them that even the slightest touch hurt? Their idea of a gentle squeeze sent needles of pain cascading throughout his body. They were just so happy and he could barely force the tiniest smile.

This wasn’t his life!

But his life was gone. He had no band to go back to, even if he was able, because his former band mates were idiots; they couldn’t get over their differences and so without Gus playing peacemaker, there was no band. The shrinks at the hospital had kept asking him how he felt. They didn’t understand how Gus could accept the abrupt limitations brought about by his injuries. They’d gone on and on and on about how he was lucky to be alive. Gus agreed. What he refused to talk about was the great, gnawing emptiness that ate at his insides.

“Hey, you feeling better?” Diahann asked as Gus slipped behind the bar later that night. She had her tip jar down, counting the contents.

He nodded. “Yeah. How’s things today?”

She stopped what she was doing to stare at him. “You mean you haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

Diahann cocked her head. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

Pulling on food service gloves and washing his hands, Gus frowned over his shoulder. “Yes. Why?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged. “Except that you’re usually the one quizzing me on the news.”

“So sue me; I slept in. You gonna tell me or what?”

“One of the NatLife guys got shot last night.”

“No shit! Really?”

Diahann nodded. “Restaurant’s been busy with everyone glued to the news.” She gave him a significant look. “Mandi says she’s been getting calls all morning for you.”

“Me?” Gus pulled out the cash drawer and started reviewing the receipts. He glanced over the schedule and saw with satisfaction that they were running full shift. All his bartends were experienced and familiar with this shift, so they shouldn’t have any problems for him to deal with.

“Duh!” Diahann smacked him lightly on the back as she stepped closer and whispered in his ear, “You didn’t think it was all due to your being rescued by Little D yesterday, did you?”

Gus blushed and lost track of his place. He grimaced and started over as Diahann laughed.

“How was he? Little D is so cute! I’m so jealous he only comes in here on Friday nights. And then you go and get him all to yourself! What’s your secret, hmm?”

“Must be my witty repartee,” Gus muttered. Friday nights, every Friday night, as he’d been told a million times, Little D came in to sing, and he only ordered from the bar if Gus was there.

“You know,” Diahann said, stretching out over the counter. “I heard that Little D was seriously enamored of you growing up.”

“Would you stop!” he snapped at her, hitting the computer screen in his irritation. “I can’t concentrate!”

She only laughed. “You know it’s all correct. Just sign off on it.” She gave him merry little wave and headed toward the back room. “See ya!”

Gus scowled after her, but he was relieved to see her go. Without her distracting him, he was easily able to double-check the records and get the bar ready for the night. Sure enough, the shift started off slow. They got a lot of cleaning done while they waited for the dance floor to fill. Gus even went so far as to ask Mandi if they should send some of his staff home. She only gave him a look that said he was crazy and irritating her for bothering her with stupid questions.

Gus returned to the bar to find the place packed. Regulars shouted to him from all along the counter. He’d thought he was used to the noise and chaos but he stood there for a minute taking it all in.

“Gus!” called one of his bartends, shooting him a desperate look. “Little help here?”

He jerked into motion, glad for the customers keeping him too busy to think beyond the next drink order. Colton and Jan performed an impromptu dance at the height of the craze and as he stepped back to give them room, a familiar chord touched his ears. He knew what he’d see when he looked to the stage, but he still couldn’t believe his eyes.

Little D stood there in his stage costume and make-up. His short hair was bright yellow to match his outrageous boots -- the only splash of color in an outfit of otherwise endless shades of black. His fingers caressed the synth’s keys, making Gus shiver. He’d heard that song a hundred times or more, but he’d seen the lyrics only that morning. The simple melody Dee played couldn’t match the tune Gus had penned. He knew in that moment that he’d never composed that song for himself to sing.

Then Dee looked up and his kohl-rimmed eyes stared right into Gus. He smiled and began to sing. Words sung in his own voice from the recording on his computer swam before Gus’s eyes and he swallowed. Now he knew what Dee was singing, an anthem of joy so sweet Gus couldn’t breathe.

He could almost see it:

"Someone matching your description dropped this off at the desk today." Gus held out a music demo disk salvaged from the gossips at Ares records.

The figure huddled on the steps made a pitiful sight. Daiki no Mori was all red, a threadbare, red trench coat, even redder hair poking out of the hood, the tips of red shoes from under the ragged hem of his pants, knees curled up to his chin for warmth, nose and cheeks red from the chill air, and bloodshot eyes, but as he’d looked up at Gus, all Gus had seen was adoration. In that instant, he was transformed. The features gifted him by his Earthling father became once again beautiful. His smile had been returned by an outrageous statement that soon evolved into their own private joke.

Gus startled everyone around him by laughing. He knew what those words were that Dee sang! It was a joke, a phrase he’d heard so often in disgust turned into a list of beloved features. In that odd language, the words were incomprehensible to all but the men who knew the meaning: Angus McKenna and Little Dee.

He hurled himself over the bar, gliding through the mass filling the club with an ease stemming from total focus on his target. The musicians faltered to a stop but Gus had eyes only for Dee. He smiled so big he thought his mouth might actually split and took over the other synth as if it stood empty. His fingers flipped the buttons and clicked the settings as if he’d last played just that morning and not three years ago.

He found and hit the opening chord to the song Little D had been singing. This time, they’d play it Gus’s way and he saw the challenge accepted in the gleam from Dee’s eyes. They turned their backs and began to play.

"Hm-mm," Gus sang. "Two ears? Yep. Eyes, dark, but present, and, yep! Horns still tucked away. Not so evil-looking, am I? For an offworlder?"

Gus smirked as Dee laughed so hard he had to step back from the synth and lean forward on his knees to catch his breath. On the floor below, the crowd cheered and stomped their feet, waving their hands in the air as Gus beat out the heavy rhythm on the stage synth. The three layers of keys could mimic any instrument ever made and Gus used one to interject a deep, melancholy sound while the other two complemented his lyric baritone.

He sang it through twice more, barely hearing when Dee came back in and added his lighter, pop flair. The other musicians had fallen silent. They knew when they were outclassed; they watched, as enthralled as the rest of the club.

Gus let Dee sing the last chorus. The unknown Earth language lent the last stanzas a haunting tone. He watched over his shoulder as the last notes died away and Dee looked back at him. A cough burned against the back of his throat where Gus had swallowed it down.

They stepped away from their instruments at the same time, standing staring at each other as their chests rose and fell. Dee’s pale eyes drank Gus in; looking away was impossible, but Gus’s hands didn’t need to see. They reached out and fisted in Dee’s stiff, corded vest and dragged him forward a step. Dee’s hands came up to cradle his cheeks, but Gus had already tilted his face up to meet the descending lips.

They broke apart so Gus could cough. There was screaming happening, but he couldn’t hear over the coughing that sent him to his hands and knees. Dizzy, he closed his eyes behind his shades, hearing only the blood rushing in his ears.

“Gus!”

He sucked in a quick breath around more coughing and just coughed harder. Tears came to his eyes, curling over the fingers masquerading as shredded glass that he clutched to his aching chest. Then he was moving, coughing from the bite of chilly air on his face. He wanted to scream as his body seized, but he couldn’t stop coughing.

DEE exited the stage via the employee entrance to the back, leaving behind mortified silence where a minute before had been screaming fans. Gus shook in his arms and Dee walked faster as Mandi beckoned anxiously. He all but ran Mandi over as she directed him to her office. There he set Gus down on the couch, wincing as he arched against the solid surface. If he could stop coughing long enough, Dee felt sure that Gus would be screaming by now.

His glasses had come askew, but it didn’t matter because Gus kept his eyes tightly screwed shut. Blood flecked his lips as he wheezed, gasping between dry, rasping coughs. Dee reached for one of the hands to smooth out the harsh claws, but Gus did scream then and Dee jumped, letting the fingers slip from his grasp.

“What’s wrong with him?” Dee cried, but no one answered as he leaned forward to sweep sweat-soaked hair out of Gus’s face. His skin was wet as well, but cold, so cold, and his lips were turning blue.

A thermal blanket rustled as one of the servers tucked the fabric around Gus. Mandi returned seconds later with a breathing apparatus she slipped over Gus’s head. His breathing grew easier even though his coughing remained. Dee brushed his fingertips along Gus’s face and listened to Mandi call for an ambulance. He watched Gus blink, showing the moist darkness of his eyes for brief moments before he slipped into unconsciousness.

The ambulance was a pear-shaped affair that opened via hatch from the rear. The inside smelled like the minty disinfectant used by the Martian government to sterilize all public transports. They were all much the same, differing only in the number of occupants which could be accommodated; but the ambulances had priority flight paths.

Less than ten minutes after Gus’s collapse, Dee carried him out of the ambulance into the receiving bay of the city's premier hospital. Attendants immediately whisked Gus onto a stretcher, working him out of his clothes to attach all the wires and sensors. Dee watched them work, striving to stay calm when the very last thing he wanted was to be separated from the man he still loved so fucking much it should be illegal.

Gus, Gus, don't die on me!

Blocked from Gus by the mini army of hospital staff, Dee held out his wrist for an attendant to scan for the hospital's records, with an additional thumbprint to accept the transport fees. "His ID's on his necklace," he explained as the puzzled attendant re-scanned Gus's arm.

Once situated over the metallic pendant, the scanner beeped officiously, making everyone's heads turn. The attendants looked at each other, glanced back to the read-out, and stopped all activity, instead grabbing the stretcher and running in a completely new direction. Dee tripped over his feet to keep up.

A team of doctors took over from the emergency ward attendants when the lift doors opened to the new floor. Dee recognized the man leading the pack. David Soo Hu was the chief scientist at the forefront of bacta technology. His picture had been splashed all over the newscasts lately. He was young for all the recognition he had accumulated.

He pulled Dee to one side as the doctors switched Gus to their stretcher and Dee lost track of him behind the wall of white lab coats.

"How long has he been bleeding? Did he take a blow to the head?"

"Uh, no, I don’t think so.” Dee leaned to the side to try and see over the doctors. They were pushing Gus’s stretcher again but Dr. Hu kept blocking him from following. “He can’t stop coughing -- where are they taking him?”

"Um-hm, uh-huh." He scribbled some more. "And who are you?"

"Um." Dee sighed. As soon as the hospital's transport log became public, everyone would know anyway. The press would be on him immediately. There was no sense trying to play coy. "I'm Daiki no Mori, sensei."

"Thank you, young man." He gestured to the waiting arrival attendants and lift. "They'll see you out."

"But ...? I --"

"Regulations on this floor do not permit visitors. Please leave without a scene, Mori-san. It would be prudent."

"Prudence be damned!" Dee exclaimed. "I want to stay with him! Why can't I stay?"

"You must receive authorization from the family. You can apply for a guest badge from the front desk. Good day." He bowed curtly, gesturing to his staff and then following them down the corridor.

Two orderlies grabbed Dee by the shoulders and arms, just short of dragging him as they urged Dee back into the lift. He stared as the doors closed in his face.

The calm, beige walls of the lift deposited Dee in the hospital’s main lobby and straight into a horde of flashing cameras. Reporters shouted out questions but Dee put his hand up in front of his face and pushed through to the front desk. Hospital security arrived and restored some order as Dee spoke to the clerks. They wouldn’t grant him a pass no matter how he begged and raged.

Exhausted, he slumped down in one of the hospital’s uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Dropping his head in his hands, he waited, oblivious to the scrutiny of the other patients and their families. Before long he was up out of his seat, peeling out of his coat and calling everyone he knew from his manager to Sato-sama’s office. It was no surprise when the latter didn’t answer. No doubt the hospital had already contacted him.

Dee closed the line and shoved the com unit into his pocket just in time for it to chime. The slim device slipped easily back into his hand. He sighed at the display.

“Ohayou, Mother.”

“Dee-chan, what have you done to upset your father?” The voice on the other end was soft but threaded with a core of iron. That particular tone of voice was usually reserved for his father’s innumerable business dinners and parties. That she’d elected to turn it on him meant she was royally annoyed.

Dee groaned. “Nothing, Mother.”

“The press is saying some outrageous things.”

“I’m aware of that.” He slumped down in a chair. “Where is Papa? I can’t get ahold of him.”

His mother’s soft, tsk-tsk noise made him cringe. “Dee-chan, you are old enough to stop these foolish bids for attention. Your father has more than enough concerns without your adding to them.”

“Hai,” he grunted. “But, Mother --“

“Really, Daiki. I expect better than this from you. Now, call your father and apologize for interrupting him.”

Dee rolled his eyes. “Fine, Mother. If you can assure me he’ll actually answer the com.”

“Leave a message. Your father is a busy man, and you have much better things to do with your time than causing disruptions. Don’t you have a tour you’re leaving on soon?”

He made a noise in the back of his throat, but he wasn’t listening anymore. Once, he’d dreamed of getting off Mars and touring all the inhabited planets and moons of the system. Music was so much more real to him than the real world, stuffed into pretentious, traditional suits that made him out to be some kind of talking doll. Doing and saying the correct thing had given him stomach pains as a child. He’d sought refuge in his mother’s music room but couldn’t dodge the pleasantries required by society. No one understood how he could stand in front of a room and sing or play the piano but couldn’t string together two coherent sentences to please his father’s guests.

As a young teen he’d seen the newscasts of Kane no Sato’s sister’s child arriving on Mars. His white teeth glinted against his dark skin when he smiled and the whites of his eyes made the pupils seem even darker and more alluring. Everyone immediately fell in love with him even though they knew that Earthlings were rude barbarians.

Dee found Gus’s fumbling’s in Martian culture riveting. He felt like an alien sometimes himself and could sympathize every time Gus tripped over an invisible rule of behavior. Dee even wondered if he did it on purpose. For several months, Gus remained a running gag on the newscasts as he apologized to people he’d inadvertently offended, but he could do what Dee could not: he could laugh at himself.

When Angus McKenna took his high school proficiency exam and announced he was pursuing a musical career, he had agents all but beating down Sato-sama’s door. This, too, he took in stride. And when he sang, his music spoke right to Dee, as if all the things in his heart that he couldn’t find words for found their voice. All his confusion and anger and frustration and despair became beautiful through music. He could spend hours just listening to Gus’s first album and had bought every news article about the singer. He dreamed of one day singing one of Gus’s songs.

“Daiki no Mori!” his mother scolded. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Honestly, Dee-chan.” She sighed. “Well, since you’re obviously far too busy to talk to your mother, I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. ‘Bye, Mother.” He ended the call mid-protest, something he wouldn’t have dared to do before Gus inspired him to cut off all his hair and, with that, shedding many of the rigid social mores he’d been raised on. Striding to the window, Dee looked out and ignored his reflection in the composite plastic.

Gus had arrived on Mars with long hair, the one thing that the press had praised him for at the time. Even on stage, he usually wore his hair pulled back in a tight braid that hung halfway down his back. The top was shorter and could be fussed at to stand out from his head like a Mohawk. The style was fetching in combination with his stage makeup and costumes.

Dee would never be able to mimic Gus's unique look. His hair was far too fine. Each individual strand was very thin, but there were many of them. The thickness was the only thing keeping his hair from standing out around his head like a cloud. But the weight! When Gus’s hair stylist had severed the long tail, Dee suddenly felt absurdly naked, but lighter.

He had rubbed the back of his neck and given his reflection a wry smile. He remembered Gus’s words as he’d chucked him on the shoulder. "See? It's not so bad."

And it wasn’t. Gus had followed that by showing him how to reclaim his voice, and he’d done it, hadn’t he? His father had told him he’d never make a living as a musician and Dee had once believed him to be right. He’d gone to countless talent agencies and music producers and gotten nowhere. Hungry and exhausted and convinced he’d have to crawl home and admit his failure, Dee’s desperate thoughts had been interrupted by a shadow falling over him.

Looking up, he saw the most amazing thing: Angus McKenna no Sato stood on the step above, smiling and holding the small demo disk Dee had just dropped off in the studio office. He’d forever chastise himself for the first words out of his mouth: “Your teeth are so white.”

He’d been mortified, of course, but Gus had just laughed.

His com unit chirping made Dee jump. Seeing that it was his valet calling, Dee answered, switching instantly to video. “You’ve found something! What is it?”

Norio shifted from one foot to the other, finally settling into a formal stance with his hands clasped behind his back and eyes straight ahead. “As you requested, sir, I have been reviewing the clan finances from MT 135 to the present and Mori-sama has directed substantial funds to the research division at Dream Prime.”

“The hospital? How much?” Dee swallowed and gave silent thanks for the steadiness of his voice. “How much, Norio?”

His valet shuffled again. “I’d rather not say without a secure link, Daiki-san.”

“Very well. Send the information to Mariko. Tell her everything. It’s urgent that she make this a priority.”

Norio groaned.

“What? She likes you.”

“Daiki-san?”

Dee spun around and for a second believed the absolute worst until his brain clicked on and reminded him that Sato-sama always looked like he’d gotten bad news. His father probably had a lot to do with that, Dee thought with a purely internal sigh.

He bowed in greeting. “Sato-sama, kon'nichiwa.”

The older man beckoned with bent fingers. “Come.”

Dee was by his side in an instant, quickly hanging up on his valet after promising to speak to his sister as soon as he could. Sato-sama said nothing as he led the way through the hospital, leaving Dee’s heart to race and his blood pressure to rise unchecked with his increasing anxiety. He clenched his hands in his pockets and tried to look calm.

Although he itched to ask questions, Dee held them in. If he asked and Sato-sama answered, then he might not get the answers he so desperately wanted. If he started asking questions, would he be able to stop? And which of the innumerable questions buzzing around his head would he ask first? Keeping his distance hadn’t been easy and now he wondered if he should have pushed for more.

The casual, fresh scent of the main hospital disappeared as Sato-sama guided Dee into a lift and punched a few buttons. The doors opened again on a crisp, antiseptic smell. Two orderlies waited for them. They bowed and said a few words of greeting that Sato-sama ignored.

Dee followed them down a long corridor filled with closed doors. They passed few people. One of the doctors, pushing a patient in a wheelchair, looked up at Dee with a blank look that made him miss a step.

“Careful,” Sato-sama muttered, catching him by the elbow to haul him along.

“Where are we?” Dee rubbed his arms and told himself that he was not cold.

“Research division. Here.” Sato-sama stopped and his hand descended like a vise on Dee’s shoulder to keep him by his side. “Mori-san,” he said urgently, “he will not know you. Please.”

Dee looked up at Gus’s uncle and swallowed hard, licking his lips. Swallowing his protest and questions, he nodded and Sato-sama released him. Dee’s hand trembled on the door plate. He closed his eyes as the door slid open with the same hush as permeated everything else on this floor. From the doorway, all he could see was the end of a hospital bed. Equipment sat on moveable carts clustered around the bed and he inched his way closer with trepidation he couldn’t mask.

The little body at the center of that bed was the only splash of color besides the line of greenish fluid dripping from a bag by his head. Dee was by Gus’s side without being consciously aware of moving. He went to grab one of Gus’s hands and stopped, remembering how Gus had screamed before. Instead, Dee lightly stroked the soft, dry skin of his wrist. The back of Gus’s hand looked dusty, as did the arm and shoulder sticking out from under the thin hospital sheets.

“Gus,” Dee whispered.

Lying there, the dark circles under Gus’s eyes were more pronounced, the hollows of his cheeks deeper, and the bones of his face were sharper. He was asleep, but at least he’d stopped coughing.

Dee grabbed a stool and sat by Gus’s bedside until he woke hours later. He smiled and waited for the sleepy eyes to focus on him. The dark brown depths stared back boldly; the lines around his eyes crinkled as Gus frowned.

One rigid hand relaxed as Gus breathed out in a sound rather like a hiss and he clawed at the breathing mask. “Mori-san?” he croaked.

“Hai.”

“I hurt too much to be dreaming.”

Dee smiled, but the expression was fleeting. “You’re surprised to see me?”

“Well…” Confusion showed in the furrow between Gus’s eyebrows. “The doctors, you know.” His hand twitched in an aborted gesture. Gus groaned and his tongue darted out between his lips, wetting them. “Water?”

“Um.” Nothing in the room stood out to his eyes as drinkable, all shiny metal or matte white surfaces. Chunky blocks of equipment cluttered every table or mobile cart. Even more … things stuck out from the wall above Gus’s head. Now that Dee was looking, he wished he hadn’t.

A shadow detached itself from the wall at Dee’s back making him jump and make an undignified noise.

“Uncle,” sighed Gus.

Dee watched a bottle materialize from a cabinet on a level with his ear; he was positive there hadn’t been a cabinet there when he’d looked. The built-in straw slipped between Gus’s lips and he drank, closing his eyes and nodding his thanks.

Sato-sama set the bottle aside and sat down on the bed by Gus’s knee. He cradled Gus’s hand tenderly between his palms. “Gus, do you know where you are?”

“Hai, Uncle. Am I -- did I miscount?”

“The doctors administered the treatment early.” A tear trickled down the old man’s face and Dee shifted uncomfortably. He wasn’t sure he should be there, not after what Sato-sama had told him in his office.

“Damn,” Gus cursed softly. He closed his eyes again with a tight, quick grimace. “I’m sorry, Oji-san.”

Sato-sama leaned down to kiss his nephew’s brow. “Do not worry, Gus. The deterioration is not unexpected.”

“But so soon.”

“You have a visitor,” said Sato-sama, changing the subject.

Dee forced a smile. “Hello.” He blushed and bowed his head politely.

Gus blinked at him, glanced to his uncle, and then said a polite, “Hello.” Clearly he had no idea why a famous pop star had chosen to sit by his sickbed.

Clasping his hands tightly in his lap to hide their trembling, Dee looked to Sato-sama for help.

A folded piece of recycled plas-sheet appeared in Sato-sama’s hand. The words moved, displaying the whole article a sentence at a time as Sato-sama held it open for Gus to squint at.

“We know each other,” said Gus reluctantly. Dee turned his head and blinked until he had his tears under control.

“Hai, we sang together tonight.”

Gus’s face was downright murderous. “I can’t sing anymore.”

“Hai,” said Dee around the lump in his throat. “Gomen nasai, McKenna-san.” He wanted to hold him so badly! But Gus closed his eyes and Sato-sama rose, his hand on Dee’s shoulder to pull him outside.

“The man you knew is gone, Mori-san,” said Sato-sama gently.

Dee blinked and wiped away the few tears that escaped. “Tell me why he doesn’t remember me.”

“The nanite treatments affect his memory,” Sato-sama explained. “Sometimes whole days are lost, or weeks. Sometimes only parts of days or hours.”

“I understand after the initial treatment, but that shouldn’t happen with the upkeep sessions.” It did, however, explain why every time he saw Gus at the club, it was like meeting for the first time, but how did that account for the things Gus did know? Like Dee’s favorite drink?

The older man shrugged, glancing at the door to his nephew’s room. “Nevertheless.”

“Is it just me he forgets?” If it was painful for him, it must be agony for Gus’s family.

Sato-sama shrugged. “I’ve never thought to find out just what he forgets, only what he remembers, and not even that, recently. It’s … I don’t think I want to know anymore.”

Looking at the grieving head of the Sato clan, Dee started to get an inkling of a suspicion that made him shiver. This was wrong; everything in him screamed at how wrong this all felt. What was the connection?

“Sato-sama,” said Dee, daring to grasp the man’s sleeve. “There’s something wrong.” Withdrawing, he took a step back and thrust his hands in his pockets. He was about to give voice to clan matters, a severe breach of etiquette, but if what he suspected was true, then providing Sato-sama with the truth was the least he could do to begin reparations.

“There are records that show my father...” He paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. “He may have, um, donated to the hospital. Generously.”

“I don’t understand,” said Sato-sama, but his intent stare gave Dee goose bumps.

“Please, Sato-sama, this is only conjecture. I’ve sent what I found to my sister Mariko.” She was their father’s heir and could put all their family’s resources toward solving the mystery. “I know only that my father is hiding something.” Tears burned in his eyes as he looked at the door into Gus’s room. His voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I fear it has to do with Gus. You should talk to the doctors about his memory. I don’t think this is natural. Please, let me try and fix things. I don’t know what I’ve found yet, but, for Gus, I love him, I swear it!”

“Calm yourself, Daiki-san.”

He caught his breath and fought to still his trembling.

The man’s voice was soft but oddly resonant when he reached out to squeeze Dee’s shoulder. “My nephew is very dear to me, as I see he is to you as well. You have my blessing, Daiki no Mori.”

Dee blinked up at the older man. “Thank you.” This could be a dream except for how bitter the victory was. “I must speak with my sister. Tell Gus.” His throat squeezed shut, cutting off the words, but he saw understanding and sympathy in Sato-sama’s eyes.

GUS kept his eyes closed until his uncle and visitor had left. He would not weep in front of Little D. The plas-sheet cut into his fingers and he grasped quickly at the distraction.

Customers at Power Nightclub were treated to an impromptu concert last night. Pop idol Little D was joined on stage by McKenna no Sato. This is McKenna’s first concert in three years. Spokesperson for Little D described the song choice as “an anthem trumpeting the joys of being truly unique.” According to fans, the music selection is not in either musician’s repertoire....

A touch of his fingers to the text brought up the embedded video. Another let him peruse user comments, filled with excitement and pleasure and hopes for more. He read more of the article; the review was okay, but the account of him collapsing on stage was downright chilling. He reached for the room’s com unit to search for more articles.

Gus set the com aside and stared up at the ceiling. It was true that he suffered holes in his memories, but it had never been anything of importance. What did it matter when one day was like any other day? He’d been advised to keep a journal for tracking his life, such as it was. What difference did it make if he lost a day here and there?

But why couldn’t he remember collapsing on the sidewalk or being carried like an invalid or singing in public for the first time in forever? He remembered breaking up a fight; and Jun had been there. Was his mind like his eyesight, slowly vanishing as time passed? His clearest memories were all before the accident; this was to be expected… But he could hear the longing and pain in Little D’s voice.

“We know each other,” Gus had said.

“Hai.”

As if it was the most natural thing in the world. And the look in his eyes! Gus recalled that he’d once been very good at reading people. Martians were so rigid, so outwardly strong and calm, compared to the wild, fluid people on Earth. Gus had been fascinated. Everything about Martian culture was so ingrained, so traditional and inflexible. They’d really had no idea what to do with Gus, and he’d loved ‘accidentally’ breaking with tradition. Martians were so easy to shock.

That happiness was a foreign thing, as if it belonged to someone else. He was seldom happy these days. He’d turned into this brittle caricature of a man, a man who didn’t deserve the pain he’d seen in Little D’s eyes.

They knew each other. How? Why?

Gus knew about Little D’s hero worship of him, every interview mentioned it, but that was little kid stuff and couldn’t account for what he’d seen just now. Gus frowned. How had Little D convinced him to climb on stage and sing? Or play? Just thinking about it made his fingers hurt, despite all the pain killers coursing through his system. His heart hurt worse. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn’t remember. That way, he couldn’t be tortured with desire for what he couldn’t have.

After all, his uncle and Little D’s father were enemies. He knew they’d been friends once and it pained him that he and Little D might be continuing that pattern.

Strangely, words came to him then: To the one who owns my heart, sing in joyful praises. All in wonder, I hear you call. Who am I that you should fall? A melody played out in his head as he lunged for a writing stylus.

“Oji-san.” He looked up as the man entered the room, face strangely closed off. His mind was evidently elsewhere, most likely busy figuring the costs for this latest incident.

“You should rest,” his uncle interrupted, coming over to lean one hip against the hospital bed.

Gus frowned. He didn’t hide the tablet, merely set it aside to shake out the cramps in his hand. “What are you not telling me, Uncle?” He watched his uncle look away, a muscle jumping in his jaw as he decided what to say. Gus bit back his impatience. His uncle had given him a home and as warm a welcome as Gus could have wished for as a nervous teenager thrust into a strange, new life. They’d never been anything but friendly and for as much as he loved his uncle, Gus respected him more. He waited.

“Your memories, they disappear with treatment. Daiki-san believes -- Gus, you know nano-tech; does anyone else have or had the same reaction as you?”

Gus’s brows lifted. “The doctors say it’s not unexpected.”

“Think, Gus.”

“No one has had such an extensive treatment,” he said slowly, “but, no, I don’t recall anything being published about side-effects that damage the mind.”

He blinked as his uncle pushed away from the bed, cursing vibrantly. “Sama,” he breathed.

Instantly, his uncle was back by his side, fingers lightly enclosing his wrist and eyes intent upon his own.

“Tell me when you’ve seen Daiki-san.”

Gus blinked at the apparent non sequitur. “Uh, he comes to the club sometimes.” The article mentioned that Little D was often found at the nightclub where Gus worked. The gossip rags buzzed with it now that they’d been caught together twice in as many days. “Fridays. It’s always Fridays that he comes. He sings and plays. Gets drinks.” It was as if he’d memorized facts; hadn’t he seen it with his own eyes? He closed his eyes against the shift of … something deep inside his chest. He opened his eyes to find his uncle’s filled with fire. “Oji-san,” he whispered, feeling unaccountably small and helpless. “Is something wrong?”

“Mori-sama has gone too far this time.” Ice filled his uncle’s voice, belied by the kindness with which he patted Gus’s arm.

“Oji-san,” Gus protested as his uncle stood and moved away. “Gomen nasai.”

The apology resulted only in his uncle pausing on his way out the door. “Rest,” was all he said.