“True. This has got to be something new, and the Ildirans have been stagnant for centuries.” Lanyan walked to one of the triangular windows that looked out upon the Moon Statue Garden. Topiary shrubs and ornate sculptures spread across hundreds of acres on the Whisper Palace grounds. “And it wasn’t a ragtag group of pirates like Rand Sorengaard. The Roamers might want revenge against us, but they certainly don’t have the technology to destroy whole moons.”

After Basil’s scolding, Frederick kept his thoughts to himself. Since the geology was so unstable during the rapid warming of the moons, perhaps the satellites had simply broken apart by themselves. Plenty of tidal forces, tectonic heat expansion, explosive gas volatilization … but it was ridiculous to think that Jack, George, Ben, and Christopher would all self-destruct at once, and that the flying rubble could have coincidentally destroyed the distant observation platform.

“We must find out what provoked this, and who did it,” Basil said. “We haven’t heard of any other attacks, have we?”

The General shook his head. “But then, without widespread telink, it takes months for news to trickle around the Hansa colonies, and even longer to get verifiable reports from within the Ildiran Empire.”

Basil’s face darkened at the reminder. “If we had more green priests at regular checkpoints around the Spiral Arm, we wouldn’t have this communications problem.”

The King decided it was time to act regal. “By my scepter and sword, Basil, no need to complicate the issue with old sore spots. The people are clamoring for answers. How shall I respond right now? I value your advice.”

Basil frowned at him. “You listen to my orders.” The King tried not to look stung by the rebuff. “Then give me orders, Basil. Tell me what to do.”

At night, as seen from above by dignitaries in observation zeppelins, the Whisper Palace looked like a celebration of candles. Eternal torches burned from every spire and cupola, every lantern post and bridge pillar. The crowds in the square, people streaming across the bridge over the Royal Canal, and those holding special invitations to wait on the Palace grounds proper—all held candles or lights of their own.

Led by a procession of his advisers, accompanied by one of the green priests stationed on Earth, and followed by numerous uniformed envoys from important Hansa colony worlds, Old King Frederick marched along a promenade to the bridge. Royal guards opened a path for him. Crowds raised their candles and illumination globes high.

Out in the press of people, surrounded by an uneasy space, a single Klikiss robot stood, just watching. It made Frederick uneasy, and he frowned.