“We want you to reach your potential, young man,” Wenceslas said. He came forward to sit on the end of Raymond’s bed, folding his hands in his lap in an oddly paternal mannerism. “We have a great opportunity in store for you, something that will benefit you in ways that you’ve never imagined, and it will also give the Terran Hanseatic League a solid future.”

Raymond turned away, glad to feel the aches and the muscle spasms receding. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do we have any word about my mother, my brothers? I saw the fire.”

“There were no survivors, young man. The apartment complex was a complete loss.”

OX said, “Allow me to offer my sincere condolences, young Peter.”

“My name is Raymond.”

“Your name is Peter,” said Basil. “Now please listen while I explain. The first thing you must accept is that you are not who you were.”

OX walked over to a bureau in the corner of the room and returned with an ornate, gold-framed looking glass. With a steady metal hand the Teacher compy held the reflective surface in front of Raymond so that he could stare in shock at his appearance. His hair was now completely blond, a strawcolored yellow that extended all the way to the roots. His eyebrows had a different tint, above eyes that were a startling greenish blue instead of the deep brown he had been born with. He saw no evidence of contact lenses or implants. His eyes had been changed, and he was willing to bet that his hair and eyes had been genetically altered, not just colored. He was at a loss for words.

“It’s really quite a remarkable resemblance to our King Frederick, don’t you think?” Wenceslas said. Raymond had never actually studied the King’s facial features other than stylized likenesses on posters, placards, and a few old-fashioned currency notes.

OX withdrew the looking glass and bustled back to the bureau. Raymond glanced around the chamber again, just to avoid looking at the Chairman or the compy. He noted two shadowy figures outside the door. Guards, probably. His room had an overstuffed sitting chair, a tray with luscious-looking tarts, and a decanter of juice. His stomach growled.

Wenceslas gave a signal to OX. The Teacher compy brought over the refreshments.

“You are being held in a hidden chamber beneath the Whisper Palace,” the Chairman said. “Soon, you will have access to everything you could possibly want. OX will help you learn history, philosophy, politics, as well as the subtle nuances of court etiquette and your eventual responsibilities.”

“What responsibilities?” Raymond sipped the tart red juice, then gobbled a honey-soaked wafer, perhaps the most delicious pastry he had ever eaten.

“Prince Peter, you are the son and heir of King Frederick. Obviously, the public will notice the family resemblance. When you are ready, we will introduce you into the public eye. The populace will accept you.”