At 5:45 AM the next morning, the sky above all forty worlds of the Dry-Well Star Kingdom began to brighten with warm golden dawn light.
On the roof of the World 40 Central Customs Tower, Pei Xuan stood beside a massive brass microphone stand that was wired directly into the orbital highway’s power grid and the Belt-Wide RTS Radar Satellite.
Beside him, Old Wei wore a crisp white martial-arts training tunic with his empty left sleeve pinned neatly to his shoulder and his scarred right arm gleaming like dark cast iron. Tie Zhan stood behind a ten-foot-wide Thunder-Ox War Drum, holding two heavy iron drumsticks and grinning like a kid at a New Year’s fair.
“My Lord, are you sure everyone across forty planets will be able to hear me at the same time?” Old Wei asked, clearing his throat nervously and taking one last sip of Old Guo’s honey-pear tea. “From Planet Canglan all the way to World 40 is millions of miles of starry space! What if my voice arrives ten minutes late on World 12 and everyone punches out of rhythm?”
“Don’t worry, Old Wei,” Pei Xuan smiled, opening his glowing RTS Fusion Cube. “Our wormhole highway cables already carry instant Spirit Electricity and ATM signals across all forty worlds. Give me ten seconds to upgrade the satellite speakers with a Synchronized Blood-Qi Rhythm Array.”
