Leoh frowned. He loathed big parties. Too many people, too little activity. People talked incessantly at parties, but said nothing. They ate and drank despite the fact that they weren’t hungry. They spent hours listening to total strangers whom they would never see again. It was a mammoth waste of time.
Or are you merely bored, he asked himself, because no one here recognizes you? They seem to be having a fine time without the famous inventor of the dueling machine.
Leoh drifted toward the transparent wall of the satellite and watched the glowing surface of the planet outside, a huge solid sphere bathed in golden sunlight. Then he turned and floated effortlessly until he got a good view of the stars. The Acquataine Cluster was a jewel box of gleaming red and gold and orange stars, packed together so thickly that you could barely see the black background of space.
So much beauty in the universe, Leoh thought.
“Professor Leoh?”
Startled out of his reverie, Leoh turned to see a small, moon-faced, balding man floating beside him and extending his hand in greeting.
“I am Lal Ponte,” he said as Leoh shook his hand. “It is an honor to meet you.”
“An honor for me,” Leoh replied with the standard Acquatainian formality.
“You are probably looking for Sir Harold, and I know the Prime Minister would like to see you. Since they’re both in the same place, may I take you to them?” Ponte’s voice was a squeaky tenor.
Leoh nodded. “Thanks. Lead the way.”
Ponte took off across the satellite, worming his way around knots of people-many of them upside down. Leoh followed. Like a freighter being towed by a tub, he thought of the sight of his bulky self tagging along after the mousy-looking Acquatainian.
Leoh searched his memory. Lal Ponte: the new Secretary of Interior Affairs. Until a few weeks ago, Ponte had been an insignificant member of the legislature. But in the hectic voting for a new Prime Minister, with four possible candidates splitting the legislature almost evenly, Ponte had risen from obscurity to bring a critical dozen votes to General Martine’s side. His reward was the Cabinet position.
Ponte glided straight into an immense clot of people near the very center of the satellite. Leoh followed him ponderously, bumping shoulders and elbows, getting frowns and mutterings, apologizing like a latecomer to the theater who must step on many toes to reach his seat.
“Who’s the old one?” he heard a feminine voice whisper.
“Ah, Albert, there you are!” Spencer called as they got to the center of the crowd. With that, the crowd flowed back slightly to make room for Leoh. The mutterings took on a different tone.
“General Martine,” Spencer said to the new Prime Minister, “you of course know Albert Leoh, the inventor of the dueling machine and one of the Commonwealth’s leading scientists.”
A buzz of recognition went through the crowd.
Martine was tall and slim, wearing a military uniform of white and gold that accentuated his lean frame. His face was long, serious, with sad hound’s eyes and a prominent patrician nose. He nodded and put on a measured smile. “Of course. The man who defeated Kerak’s assassin. It is good to see you again, Professor.”
“Thank you for inviting me,” Leoh responded. “And congratulations on your election.”
Martine nodded gravely.
“I have been trying to convince the Prime Minister,” Spencer said in his heavy public-address voice, “that Acquatainia would benefit greatly from joining the Commonwealth. But he seems to have reservations.”
Martine raised his eyes to look beyond the crowd, out toward the satellite’s transparent shell and the golden planet beyond.
“Acquatainia has traditionally remained independent of the Commonwealth,” Martine said. “We have no need of special trade advantages or political alliances. We are a rich and strong and happy people.”
“But you are threatened by Kerak,” Leoh said.
“My dear Professor,” Martine said, raising himself slightly and looking down on Leoh, “I have been a military man all my adult life. I had the honor of helping to defeat Kerak a generation ago. I know how to deal with military threats.”
Far across the satellite, at one of the air lock entrances, Hector-wearing a stabilizer belt now-hovered above a crowd of latecomers as they came through the air lock, searching their faces. And there she was!