Hidden Empire - Kevin J. Anderson [12]
The people cheered again after listening in an awed hush. Raymond smiled at their feigned surprise; everyone already knew the announced purpose of the gathering.
"The time has come to light four more torches in the Palace District!" As the echoes of his voice faded, the King made an extravagant gesture, his hand barely visible even to Raymond's sharp eyesight.
On most of the high points, pillars, and domes, crackling eternal flames already rose to the sky, as they did from the firefly chains of lampposts on the grounds. Each torch supposedly symbolized a Terran colony world that had signed the Hansa charter and therefore swore fealty to the Old King.
"I give you these four new moons, which are named after my illustrious predecessors, the first four Great Kings of the Terran Hanseatic League: Ben!" With a boom, a blazing pillar of fire erupted from the point of a soaring tower on the walking bridge that spanned the RoyalCanal. "George! Christopher! And Jack!" As he said each name, a new torch bloomed on the top of an unlit tower on the great bridge span.
The ice hadn't even melted yet on the four moons, and the first terraforming teams wouldn't be landed until the tectonic upheavals stabilized. Still, Raymond delighted along with the audience, watching the King claim a quartet of new worlds. What a grand show!
Bands began to play, and mirrorized ribbon chaff twinkled like dandelion fluff through the air, dispersed by drifting zeppelins. King Frederick announced a day of raucous celebration. The population applauded any excuse for reveling. Maybe that was why they all loved their King so much.
Frederick hurried back into the quiet comfort of the WhisperPalace, and Raymond noted a bit of concern. The King seemed lonely, perhaps even unhappy, as if tired of living in front of so many eyes all his life. In a way, Raymond could sympathize with the monarch, though he himself spent every day completely invisible to the world at large.
He wandered among the stalls and souvenir vendors. On the facades of the WhisperPalace, broad friezes showed historical events: the launching of the eleven massive generation ships; the first contact with the Ildirans, who offered their stardrive and their galactic civilization. At specific times every hour, the holographic friezes moved, dramatizing the scenes like a glockenspiel. Statues around the fountain parks became animated: Stone angels flapped their wings, historical generals rode horses that reared up on cue.
A flow of pedestrians streamed across the bridge, entering the Palace grounds. Raymond stared at it all, eyes sparkling. He felt the threat half a second too late.
Someone grabbed him by the back of his neck, viselike fingers squeezing. "So, he's here to steal things when the crowd's not watching, but he runs out on us when we have a more sophisticated job to do."
Raymond squirmed enough to be able to see the speaker: An older boy with the unfortunate name of Malph scowled, while his stronger friend Burl clamped the grip even tighter on Raymond's neck. The fourteen-year-old twisted himself free of Burl's hold, but he didn't run. Not yet. "Sorry, but I didn't put stealing on my list of things to do."
"Stealing's beneath his delicate sensibilities!" Burl said with a snort.
"Nah, it's too easy," Raymond retorted. "Working hard for a living—now that's a challenge. You should try it sometime."
Around them, the oblivious spectators danced, some kissed, many queued up in front of food stands. Malph kept his voice low, but he could have screamed and few people would have paid attention. "Raymond, Raymond, why don't you just become a deacon if you've got such morality problems? And why couldn't you have just said no, rather than turning us in?"
"Crimson rain, I did say no, Malph. Sixteen times, if I remember right. But you wouldn't listen. Breaking into a man's business and stealing his cash stash is not my idea of a career. You do it once, then it