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Myles would have been at Lake Luno with his wife, had it not been for the fact that his position as Minister of Play in the Royal Cabinet absolutely required his presence at the exercises. In addition, he was to shoot on one of the competing revolver teams, which were to furnish part of the entertainment. So he had made—literally—a flying trip from Lake Luno, arriving at Kuana just in time for the performance.

Formia, the ant-nation, had been invited to send a delegation, but had declined. Who can blame them, considering that the occasion was to commemorate their downfall? So the program went on without the ants, and the stand reserved for them remained vacant, although the rest of the huge amphitheater was jammed with some fifty thousand enthusiastic Cupians.

The weather could not have been finer. The air was warm, fragrant, hot-house scented, and fanned by gentle zephyrs; for the prevailing winds, which blow ever toward the boiling seas, were less strong than usual. Above, at a far height, shone the silver clouds which always surround the planet, to shield it from the intense heat of the sun. The light, diffused by these clouds, shed a soft radiance over the scene below, transforming the gay coloring of the Cupian togas into delicate pastel shades. The day was typical of Porovian, weather at its best, not at all the proper setting for the ominous events which were impending, all unforeseen by the holiday throng.