Recently, he had acted petulant, resisting assignments the Teacher compy gave him. He had refused to perform simple tasks Basil had requested, for no reason other than to be difficult. But OX and the Chairman had made it clear that Raymond’s continued pleasure and his future depended entirely on the benevolence of the Hansa. What was it worth to him?

Basil had scolded him. “You’re an intelligent young man, Peter. Don’t act childish. Your behavior is disappointing, like a little boy throwing a tantrum.”

Raymond had sat across from the Chairman. He remembered when his little brothers had thrown tantrums. Rita Aguerra had always known how to deal with them. He wished she were here now. He couldn’t seem to control his behavior.

“Consider what your life would be like if we hadn’t intervened on the day of the disaster. Such rewards do not come for free.” Basil had sounded paternal as he leaned across the table, his face softening. “We don’t ask so very much of you. Perhaps you resent being told what to do at times, but you must understand that no one in the Hansa—not a factory worker, nor an artist, nor even myself as Chairman—is completely free to do what he wishes to do. You must make concessions in order to reap the benefits.” Basil sat up straight, like a businessman finishing a meeting. “Now, do you understand?”

Raymond had nodded, still resentful, still confused, but now he realized he would have to take a different approach. He’d need to play along.

That morning, OX had been delighted when Raymond asked to work independently for a while, to scour the databases accessible inside the Whisper Palace. “I promise not to go into any restricted areas,” he said contritely. “I’m just curious about the other planets in the Hansa. There are so many colonies on so many worlds. Maybe when I’m King, I’ll be able to visit them.”

The small Teacher compy made an appreciative noise. “Even as King, it would require many years to visit all sixty-nine of the Hansa colony worlds.”

“Then can I at least look through the databases?” he asked, not trying to cover his eagerness.

“That would be a most constructive use of your time, Prince Peter. Because you are to be King, very few datafiles are restricted to you.”

The weight of responsibility felt heavy on Raymond’s shoulders. At the moment he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what state secrets he might find.

So, he spent hours with the polite interactive computer systems, studying the geographical files of world after world, some of them rich and exotic, others hardscrabble places that Raymond had never heard of before: Palisade, Boone’s Crossing, Cotopaxi.