Horizon Storms - Kevin J. Anderson [41]
“There’s always the chance that they’ll keep hitting human colonies, whether we use Klikiss Torches or not, Eldred.”
Cain put his chin on one hand. “We’ve just begun skymining again on Qronha 3, and I sincerely wish we had unfettered access to more gas giants. Unfortunately, when we use a Torch we don’t secure potential resources—we destroy them. That doesn’t help us harvest ekti.”
Basil growled. “Can you come up with another solution?”
“Let me think about it. By the way, I understand that several transport ships are bringing the warglobe wreckage found on Theroc. Will it arrive in time for the upcoming Ptoro victory celebration?”
“It is on the schedule.” The Chairman got to his feet. “Presenting the wreckage should be another morale booster.”
“Not much more than window dressing, Mr. Chairman.”
A cynical smile quirked the corners of Basil’s mouth. “Don’t underestimate the importance of window dressing, Eldred. Why do you think we have a King?”
Chapter 20—KING PETER
It was good to have a genuine reason to celebrate again, after so many tragedies. King Peter stood warmly beside his Queen on a high balcony overlooking the gathering dusk of the festival square. Though they were in public, and partly because of it, he and Estarra shared quick communicative glances, brief touches, very close and comfortable in each other’s space.
The royal couple were welcomed with a resounding cheer; Peter’s face wore its first genuine smile in recent memory. He and Estarra clasped hands, raised them together in greeting to the people.
Bright music skirled over the huge crowd. Street singers and instrument players skipped about with an obvious need to show their joy. Revelers loosed phosphorescent balloons that floated into the air, then popped, spraying shimmering sparkles. Boats cruised the RoyalCanal, and tourist-filled zeppelins drifted overhead.
Down in the plaza, the Archfather of the official religion, Unison, stood like a kindly old saint in gaudy voluminous robes, leading groups in ritualized prayer and hymns of thanksgiving. Young Prince Daniel, Peter’s supposed brother, was not in attendance “for security reasons,” and the King was glad that the unspoken threat of his replacement would not sour the day. Chairman Wenceslas thought he had intimidated the young King into meekly accepting his subordinate role, but Peter was merely biding his time, guarded and careful.
“I’d almost forgotten what it felt like, Estarra. It was necessary to remind the hydrogues that we are not helpless, that we won’t just stand by and be slaughtered.”
She hugged him. “Now they certainly aren’t going to forget.”
He ran his hand over the soft skin of her shoulder, loving just to touch her. Unfortunately, because he so obviously cared for her, Estarra’s safety had become a nasty bit of leverage for the Hansa. Peter knew it, and so did Basil.
Moving silently, the Chairman stepped up behind them, as silent as gathering dust. “The cargo haulers have started their descent. They should be visible in the sky within ten minutes, so it’s time for you to begin your announcements.”
“You and your schedules, Basil,” Peter said with a wry smile. “Are you nervous about giving your little speech today?” Though he rarely appeared in public, the Chairman had chosen to give an address of his own; perhaps Basil wanted to bask in the optimistic news for a change. A bit of rare pride?
“Nervous? No.”
On cue, a loud fanfare stunned the background murmur into silence. Unnecessary spotlights shone down on the three of them, dazzling Peter’s eyes and blinding him to the descending spacecraft—but he knew where they were scheduled to be. “Behold,