The square outside the temple had been cordoned off. Beyond the line of bollards and the soldiers in their sky blue uniforms the crowd heaved, almost like water contained by a sea wall. Butcher leaned against a blank wall, as far away from the surge of people as he could manage while still being able to see the action. Funny how crowds affected you when you'd been on a long tour. He eased his weight against the bricks. His legs ached, just from the short walk he'd taken from the train station to the square. But then he knew from experience that it would take a day or so to regain his land legs, even on his home planet where gravity wasn't so very far different from standard.
A man with a child perched on his shoulders walked in front of Butcher. The child chuckled, one pudgy hand clutching the man's hair, the other waving a small version of the Royal flag, four orange circles on a sky-blue background. Full sized flags fluttered on mast heads, and curves of bunting in the same colors decorated the front of the temple's normally somber gray stone walls. Butcher watched the man weaving his way through the gathering, no doubt searching for a better vantage point. At least it was a happy crowd, enjoying the spectacle of floats, marching bands and performers. Smiles and laughter dominated, the buzz of thousands of people competing with the music.
The last float had passed, its musical accompaniment fading in the distance. The formal part of the ceremony should begin any moment now. Normally Butcher would have slipped away. But maybe he'd get a glimpse of Tarlyn in the queen's party. Not that it mattered, of course. He just wanted to see her for old time's sake, see how the years had treated her.
Trumpets blared. The crowd strained toward the cordon. Butcher, standing on tiptoe, craned his head to see. The processional vehicles appeared, accompanied by the roar of the crowd. Queen Carmela was popular enough on this annual holiday, when she and her family came to the temple to celebrate the arrival of mankind on Validor. Today marked five hundred years, a special anniversary.
The vehicles approached, flanked by pairs of soldiers riding in-line skimcycles. The queen rode in the first ground car, sitting down, smiling, returning the waves of the crowd. Her daughter, Crown Princess Emerda, rode in the second car with her husband, Duke Chaldo, who was resplendent in his red and blue uniform with orange sash, and gold collar and rank insignia. Standing, they waved to the crowd, one way, then another. Butcher's planetary notes, courtesy of Fleet Intelligence, rated this man as one to watch. Even though he'd never fired a shot in anger, never commanded anything more than an orbital patrol ship. But he looked nice in his pretty uniform.
Who was that beside the queen, shorter, wearing a conical headdress? Great heavens, a Ptorix. They'd never had a Ptorix in the ceremony when Butcher was young. The two communities always kept to themselves, humans living on Nestor, Ptorix on Dhnizan, the second, larger continent. Sure, there had always been the small colony on Berzhan Island, but that was to do with their religion. Well, if Queen Carmela was trying to promote détente with the Ptorix that was great. Butcher had been in too many battles, seen too many wars. The galaxy had room enough for two sentient species, and more.
Someone shifted in the crowd.
Fifteen years of Fleet service jangled in Butcher's brain, tensed his muscles. The man didn't look any different to the other revelers but he moved with purpose, shoving his way up to the cordon. Butcher shouted. Danger. But his voice was lost in the noise of the crowd. Surely the soldiers would see the intruder, stop him. Butcher couldn't see past the jostling backs and waving flags. Shouts rang out.
