He hovered here now for another long stretch of time, the light behind him no less brilliant. Then came another flash, and at the top of the stairway of light, the Empress appeared. She, too, was beautiful, not yet 375, which was still young for a Special. She was dressed in an emerald gown, see-through in the bodice, with a train nearly one hundred feet long. She glided to the floor and settled in a spot behind her husband.
The Princess Xara appeared next. She was the most lovely of all. Radiantly blond, small and curvy, she was dazzling but in a way completely different from the rest of the Specials crowd. As the third member of the Imperial Family, Xara appeared to be the most normal, the most down-to-earth. She always seemed slightly bemused at the attention she received wherever she went and from whoever she met. Nearly devoid of pretensions, she could intelligently converse with anybody, anywhere, on any number of subjects, a trait that was not carried in more than a thimbleful by the other three members of her family, combined.
Xara held the fashion sway of the day as well, preferring simple long, white gowns, with little jewelry, her hair usually tied up but sometimes worn down, and occasionally a plunging neckline. She was considered the most beautiful female in the Galaxy.
And still, she was only eighteen.
There was no drama, onlv gracefulness, as she elided down the ray of light, like her mother, going right to the floor, where she quickly moved out of the glare. The imperial son — known to just about everyone in the Galaxy as The Dope — came next. He tried to impress those gathered with a speedy if detached descent, arms folded across his chest and a sun-ban ring covering his eyes.
But most people had gone back to talking and drinking before his feet ever hit the floor.
Xara certainly was not in the mood for a party, never mind one as elaborate and obscene as this.
She really couldn't believe anyone actually enjoyed these things, especially when so many long knives were out Except her mother, of course, who saw them as yet another opportunity to be fawned over, to direct the latest palace machinations, to launch a few plots of her own, and perhaps ruin a few good lives. But such things were routine for her.
Xara's brother hated them as well, but he hated everything. He was usually off cruising the Solar System — or terrorizing it might be the better term — he and his freaky friends and his extremely expensive ultracar. He was smart about one thing: As soon as he'd touched down, he'd taken a few mouthfuls of slow-ship wine and then vanished.
And her father?
Xara looked at him now, seated upon the hovering throne at the far end of the hall, staring blankly off into space, seeing things that no one else could see — or at least so everyone thought.
What did her father, Ruler of the Galaxy, mink of these things? What did he think about at all?
Xara didn't have the faintest idea.
The celebration swirled away from her as she walked the periphery of the Great Hall, keeping to the shadows but staying as far as possible from the edge of the thick artificial forests.
She turned down many offers of slow-ship from hovering robot trays, at the same time shaking her head in disgust at the heavy hitters who were taking their streams of wine directly from the pool floating in the middle of the hall.
So lazy they can't even hold a glass, she thought.
She nodded to most of those who caught her eye and embraced a few old aunts and uncles. But her intent was to circumnavigate the party just once before quickly blinking back to her apartment, where she could be miserable again in peace.
True, she was only eighteen, yet her heart felt like that of an ancient soul, weighed down as if she'd lived a couple thousand years already. Why the melancholy? It was all very foolish really. She was in love with Hawk Hunter. She dreamed about him every night and had sent romantic things to him in the past. And though she had not laid eyes on him now for nearly a year, he was always in her thoughts, his name always on her lips. It was almost as if she was able to carry on conversations with him in her mind, which really was foolish, because the number of times that they had been together — truly, just he and her— she could count on one hand.
Yet he had touched a place inside her where no one else had been. He respected her, as the first daughter of the Galaxy of course, but she knew he could have cared less about her position in life. He knew that she felt the same way. And he was mysterious and gallant and handsome and a true hero. What girl her age wouldn't be intrigued by all that?
So, she was in love with him, and that was the cause of her heartache.
Because she was convinced she was also responsible for his death.
By five a.m., the entire Imperial Family had left the building.
O'Nay had retreated to his tower to begin a long period of solitary, self-imposed meditation before the day of the big race arrived. The Empress departed quickly for Venus, for the ultraexclusive retreat of Langra-ji, to mingle with the family's harder-edged relatives. Xara was back in her apartment, crying herself to sleep. The Dope was heading for a secret jam party on Jupiter.
Inside the Gold House, everyone was back off the floor again. In the deepest parts of the artificial forests, screams could now be heard, along with a few yelps of delight. Most of the women had paired off with the eligible men, and some with each other. The invisible orchestra was playing more subdued tunes now. The lights in the Great Hall were down to barely visible. Thousands of candles had been lit instead.
It was just about this time when a young Solar Guardsman suddenly appeared among the crowd. Though splendidly turned out in a black satin uniform, he looked puny and unwashed in the room full of Specials. He'd entered through a side door, nervous but undeterred. He walked down the center of the hall, taking a right by the floating sea of slow-ship wine, and quickly located Xayz Joxx, the elder high commander of the Solar Guards. He and a group of SG officers were talking near the potatos display.
The soldier marched up to them and saluted.
"Message, sir," he said. "From the secure bubble in Room 13."
He handed Joxx the Elder a tiny silver plate. The Solar Guards commander took the message drop and placed it on his tongue, dismissing the soldier with a curt nod. It was strange, because most of the officers standing around Joxx the Elder thought the message concerned the dizzying array of wagers the High Commander had put down on the upcoming race. The secure bubble in Room 13 at the bottom of SG headquarters was a communication set used only for the highest priorities or the deepest secrets. Who to bet in the Earth Race, and by how much, was a study in religion among the Specials, more so as the day of the big event drew near.
But when Joxx the Elder tasted the message drop, his eyebrows shot up for a moment. He motioned his coterie of officers to a darkened corner of the forest, far away from a small clutch of curious Space Forces types who had wandered up nearby. Joxx the Younger saw the slight commotion and joined the small group of SG officers.
Joxx Senior rarely looked troubled, but at the moment, he did appear concerned. He briefed his officers on the message. It seemed so harmless at first. It originated from the upper part of the mid-Two Arm, from a listening post contracted out by the SG to a local mercenary group. Spies from this merc force reported a large movement of refugees traveling through an isolated star system called Laramie 66 about five light-years from their position. There seemed to be at least ten million people on the move, possibly a lot more, and they were coming from higher up on the Two Arm. The report gave no reason why the sudden tide of refugees had shown up or which direction they were now heading.