Hidden Empire - Kevin J. Anderson [11]
She went over to them. "What was that, Dr. Serizawa? Did you see—"
The man looked at her with a distracted smile. "It will require detailed analysis, naturally, but do not be alarmed. The secondary and tertiary effects of the Klikiss Torch are not at all understood. Remember, in the extreme high-pressure cores of a gas supergiant, common gases can be compressed into metals, carbon is smashed into diamond."
He looked back down at the monitors, where the observation platform's imagers replayed the fuzzy recordings. Unfortunately, the strange objects had emerged from the opposite side of blazing Oncier. "I would not be surprised if we saw some sort of deep-core metallic nodules, exotic debris ejected in the turmoil after stellar ignition. I would not be overly concerned, Ms. Colicos. The performance of your Klikiss Torch has met or exceeded all expectations."
Margaret frowned. "They looked like ships to me, artificial constructions."
Now Serizawa's expression became somewhat condescending. "That would be highly unlikely. After all, what sort of life form could possibly survive within the high-pressure depths of a gas-giant planet?"
8 RAYMOND AGUERRA
In the Palace District, crowds gathered and cheered, vendors hawked souvenirs, and food preparers sold extravagantly priced treats. A profusion of festival bouquets filled the air with heady perfume, though troops of maintenance workers and gardeners would be sure to remove the flowers before their color and freshness began to fade.
Raymond Aguerra glided deftly through a forest of elbows and arms. The young man didn't worry about pickpockets because he could sense any dipper, outwit him, and dodge away before the guy could make a grab. Besides, his pockets were empty. Raymond just wanted to see the sights.
He was an intelligent and embarrassingly handsome fourteen-year-old with dark hair, a thin build, and a bright smile. Raymond had few friends and even fewer advantages, except for the ones he found for himself. A hard life had made him as muscular as a greyhound, which often surprised people who challenged him, though he preferred to talk fast and turn the tables rather than get into a brawl.
He ducked and slipped forward so smoothly the front-row spectators didn't even notice a new wide-eyed person standing among them. Because every day was a struggle just to provide for himself, his mother, and his brothers, he paid little attention to politics. But he liked to watch the shows. Overhead, dirigibles, gliders, and balloons carried aloft those who could afford an expensive bird's-eye view of the Palace grounds. Gongs were rung, even more deafening than the cheers of the audience.
He watched a flurry of bright court uniforms—royal guards and ministers setting up a speaking stage on the grand balcony of the WhisperPalace. As a Unison deacon read a familiar invocation and prayer, salutiers unfurled the brilliant banner of the Terran Hanseatic League, an icon of Earth at the heart of three concentric circles.
Looking no more impressive than the court functionaries except for his too-extravagant robes, an old man stepped ponderously onto the balcony, as if he had taken the time to rehearse every footstep. When the King raised his hands high, the billowing sleeves of his lush garment drooped to his elbows. Flashes of sunlight glittered from the rings on his fingers and the cut flatgems in his crown.
"Today I speak to you of a great victory for human ingenuity and drive." King Frederick's amplified words boomed from speakers all across the plaza. He had the rich baritone voice of a deity, deep and resonating. "In the Oncier system, we have caused