Any dictionary editor stymied for an illustration of the word “paralyzed” would have pounced on him in an instant.

In fact, a disinterested observer might have wondered if Innokentiy Arsenovich Kolokoltsov, the Solarian League’s Permanent Senior Undersecretary for Foreign Affairs, was even breathing as he stared at the images on his display. Shock was part of that paralysis, but only part. And so was disbelief, except that disbelief was far too pale a word for what he was feeling at that moment.

He sat that way for over twenty seconds by Astrid Wang’s personal chrono. Then he inhaled explosively, shook himself, and looked up at her.

“This is confirmed?”

“It’s the original message from the Manticorans, Sir,” Wang replied. “The Foreign Minister had the chip couriered straight over, along with the formal note, as soon as he’d viewed it.”

“No, I mean is there any independent confirmation of what they’re saying?”

Despite two decades’ experience in the ways of the Solarian league’s bureaucracy, which included as the Eleventh Commandment “Thou shalt never embarrass thy boss by word, deed, or expression,” Wang actually blinked in surprise.

“Sir,” she began a bit cautiously, “according to the Manties, this all happened at New Tuscany, and we still don’t have independent confirmation of the first incident they say took place there. So—”

Kolokoltsov grimaced and cut her off with a wave of his hand. Of course it hadn’t.