“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 downLeoh followed. Like a freighter being towed by a tug, he thought of the sight of his bully self tagging along after the mousy-looldng 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 he 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 Afferent 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.”