The banner was emblazoned with a chain of golden stars, the emblem for the EDF, along with the Hansa's symbol of Earth surrounded by concentric circles. The banner hung heavily, weighted at the bottom and proofed against air currents or breezes.

Later that evening, torchbearers would march to the base of the dangling black fabric and ignite it. The banner would curl upward, blazing brilliantly in a brief but clean fire that consumed all of the fabric... leaving room for future banners of mourning.

King Peter had already signed proclamations giving posthumous medals to all the EDF scouts killed at Dasra. He had read each name personally, signed each certificate. It was time-consuming, but Peter considered it important. Whenever he did such things, however, Peter wondered just how much these pointless military operations accomplished.

King Peter bowed to the audience and backed away, returning to the shelter of the Whisper Palace.

"We're still on schedule," Basil said, folding in beside him. "We've screened all the petitioners in the Throne Hall, and your responses to their requests have already been scripted."

"Of course they have," Peter said.

Basil gave him a scowl, but Peter ignored it. Such tactics had stopped working on him after the first year. The Chairman said, "King Frederick always appreciated the work others did for him behind the scenes."

"I apologize if I occasionally try to think for myself."

"Your job is to speak for the Hanseatic League, not to think." Basil marched toward the Throne Hall, and Peter followed. As they walked, Basil put a fingertip to his earpiece, receiving an emergency communication; his gray eyes widened, and he urged Peter to hurry.

Nahton waited patiently beside a potted treeling. OX stood behind the throne, an unobtrusive walking database should the King need specific facts or advice. Basil would remain in the outside corridors, tending to other business while Peter listened to the petitioners. Here, the King was supposed to be the center of all attention, not the Chairman.

When he parted the thick curtains and emerged into the well-lit chamber full of mirrors and gold, Peter smiled out of habit. He heard the sudden fanfare, the applause-then stopped cold.

A hulking black machine, like an alien beetle, stood three meters tall. The Klikiss robot had planted himself at a respectful distance from the throne, an immovable and intimidating statue.

Courtiers and royal guards waited in the wings; they looked at King Peter with relief, as if believing their ruler would have the answers they sought. Security personnel stood with weapons ready, trying to look threatening... but seemed to make no impression on the Klikiss robot. Even Basil had been taken off guard.

King Peter swallowed hard, then spoke, carefully showing no consternation. "I thank you all for waiting while I attended to my sadder duties." His mind raced as he tried to think of appropriate diplomatic things to say, as OX had taught him, and he finally pretended to notice the Klikiss robot as if it were an everyday occurrence.