He scowled, as always failing to understand why humans were in such a hurry, why they needed to acquire so much land and wealth simply for the sake of possessing it.
With a muttered lukewarm blessing, the Adar let them have this place of death, loneliness, and misery.
24
BASIL WENCESLAS
In Old King Frederick’s ring-studded hand, the Medal of Glorious Commendation glittered like a star ready to go nova.
Basil Wenceslas watched the ceremony from behind the scenes, as usual. He paced the floor in his dedicated office suite, observing through close-up media cameras that showed him everything from the King to the milling crowd in the presentation square. Here, in peaceful solitude, Basil could make mental notes. He had given Frederick’s handlers sufficiently detailed instructions that he expected the event to take place without a hitch.
Under the lights of the presentation square, General Kurt Lanyan of the Earth Defense Forces stood precisely on his mark on the long red carpet. In his full dress uniform he looked both impressive and uncomfortable. Unlike Basil, the EDF commander had no choice but to be a public figure at times such as this.
After the latest round of cheers faded, Frederick held high the outrageously gaudy Medal of Glorious Commendation like ancient King Arthur about to dub a devoted knight. Imagers captured every moment from every angle. The records would be distributed across the Hansa colonies by fast stardrive ships, showing off the pomp and ceremony that was a daily routine at the Whisper Palace.
Robes covered the old King with a cocoon of color, but the broad sleeves drooped, exposing his sticklike upraised arms. Frederick’s face was gaunt, and on the screens Basil could see that the attendants had applied too much makeup, giving the King a powdery, surreal appearance. Basil frowned, hoping no one else would notice.
Lanyan stood at attention, his head formally bowed with the reverence and solemnity of the occasion.
Frederick boomed, “General Kurt Lanson, I have summoned you here to receive this honor.” Basil winced at the obvious error in pronunciation. Lanson? Couldn’t the King at least memorize his own general’s name?
A twitter passed through the crowd like a breeze ruffling a smooth surface of water. Basil gritted his teeth, hoping the slip would not attract too much attention. The people loved their King, but Basil hated for the man to show such obvious signs of age. Charming befuddlement was only a small step away from senility. No one in the Hansa-settled worlds should ever suspect that their King might not be competent to rule.
Frederick didn’t even notice his gaffe. “You have halted the depredations of the vile space pirates led by the Roamer Rand Sorengaard. You have succeeded where others have failed.” On cue, for Basil had stationed numerous agents throughout the crowd, cheers erupted in a deafening howl that cut off the King’s sentence and seemed to disorient him.
Victorious, General Lanyan had returned to Earth bringing the battered corsair ships they had impounded after capturing Sorengaard’s pirates. Though the vessels looked dirty and poorly used, Hansa engineers had discovered startling ship modifications. Sorengaard’s stardrives had been improved to an efficiency that no Hansa ship exhibited. What were the Roamers doing out there in secret?