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laser and the microwave collector to focus on that point when the sensors indicate that’s where these … these …”
    “Frost Giants is what the recon types call them.”
    “ … things … these things are centered?”
    “You want to fry them when they hit that point?”
    “That’s the idea. We can get plenty of energy from the orbital stations. What we don’t have is more equipment, and for some reason that’s exactly what your Frost Giants are interested in freezing.”
    “Do we know what will happen, sir?”
    “No. But it can’t be much worse than losing the entire planet-forming project, can it?”
    The technician frowned. “I guess not, sir. I guess not. But what if the Frost Giants object?”
    “It’s their planet. If they kick us off, they kick us off, but there can’t be more than a few. We may have to rethink, and maybe we can’t complete the project, but we need to keep them away from the soft-landed equipment.
    “That’s my first objective. Then we’ll see what happens.”

VII
    FIRST, THERE WERE the rumors. The Academy was always a place for rumors.
    “Sammis, did you hear about the problems on Mithrada? Parts of the planet are freezing …”
    I didn’t even bother to answer. Astronomy had taught me enough
about Mithrada to show how ridiculous that was. Hot enough to boil water, not to mention the higher atmospheric pressure there.
    “ … serious … they called my brother off leave …”
    “ … they’re lifting the banned weapons, the big nuclear ones …”
    At that point, Old Windlass walked in. We didn’t have to stand, but were supposed to become silent, immediately.
    “ … rebels from Eastron … do you think?”
    “ … none of them left …”
    “Master Olon, our lesson is Carnelia. I would appreciate it if you would turn your attention to whether Carnelia is a tragedy in the true sense of the word. You, too, Master Kryrel.” Old Windlass—that was what we all called him, although his real name was Dr. Wendengless—would have discussed literature if the world had been crumbling and the schedule said it was time for literature.
    “Uhhh …”
    “Come now. Is Carnelia a tragedy? Yes or no? Surely, you must have some opinion.”
    “No, sir. Carnelia is a comedy disguised as a tragedy.” My idea was not setting well, and all my plans for stringing along with Windlass’s fondness for classifying everything as a tragedy had vanished because I had been listening to Jeen Kryrel and thinking why the rumors about Mithrada couldn’t be correct.
    “A comedy? Pardon the pun, gentlemen, but surely you jest? A comedy?”
    “Yes, sir. I mean no, sir. If you take away the trappings of a court, and all the formalities, the situation is really a farce. Just because she had a single romp with the wrong nobleman, she’s threatening to commit suicide? By throwing herself into a lily pond? And she drowns in waist-deep water? How can you take that seriously?”
    “Master Sammis!” There was a pause. “How do you know the water is waist-deep in the Major Royal?”
    “I checked in the Archives when I was in Inequital last week with my mother. The original plans say the pond was built to a quarter rod depth. It was later bricked up to a handspan, but at the time of Carnelia, I assume that it was the deeper level.” Actually, I really hadn’t done all that much research. I’d been discussing it with my mother, and she had mentioned the depths. But she was always right, and Old Windlass wouldn’t know the difference.
    “And where in the Archives did you find this wonderful information?”
    “In the background information on the history of the Palace Major.”
    Windlass really looked confused, then. Started mumbling to himself,
something about the material not being in the public domain. Finally, he looked up. “All right, Master Sammis … even if the Major Royal were only a quarter rod deep, you are missing the point through a technicality—”
    Jeen was trying to keep from