The Dueling Machine

“Must be some sort of grav field along the shell,” the Watchman said, pulling one boot tackily from the floor.

“For the fainthearted, I suppose,” Leoh said.

The other shuttle passengers were streaming past them and launching themselves like swimmers away from the air lock, coasting gracefully up into the huge chamber.

Looking around, Leoh saw refreshment bars spotted along the shell, and more floating overhead. He turned back to Hector and said, “Why don’t you go look for Geri, and I’ll try to find Harold.”

“I sort of think I should stay close to you, Professor. After all, my job is to, uh, that is…”

“Nonsense! There are no Kerak assassins in this crowd. Go find Geri.”

Grinning, Hector said, “All right. But I’ll be keeping one eye on you.”

With that, Hector jumped off the floor to join the weightless throng. But he jumped a bit too hard, banged into a rainbow-clad Acquatainian who was floating past with a drink in his hand, and knocked the drink, the man, and himself spinning. The drink’s cover popped open and globules of liquid spattered through the air, hitting other members of the crowd and breaking into constantly smaller droplets. A woman screamed.

The Acquatainian righted himself immediately, but Hector couldn’t stop. He went tumbling head over heels, cleaving through the crowd like a runaway chariot, emitting a string of, “Wh… whoops… look out.… gosh… pardon me… watch it…”

Leoh stood rooted to his spot beside the air lock, staring unbelievingly as Hector barreled through the crowd. The weightless guests scattered before him, some yelling angrily, a few women screaming, most of them laughing. Then they closed in again, and Leoh could no longer see the Watchman. A trio of servants took off after him, chasing across the gigantic globe to intercept him.

Only then did Leoh notice a servant standing beside him, with a slim belt in his hands. “A stabilizer, sir. Most of the guests have their own. It is very difficult to maneuver weightlessly without one… as the Star Watchman is demonstrating.”

Leoh accepted the belt, decided there wasn’t much he could do about Hector except add to the confusion, so he floated easily up into the heart of the party. The sensation of weightlessness was pleasant, like floating in a pool of water. He got himself a drink in one of the special covered cups and sucked on the straw as he drifted toward a large knot of people near the center of the globe.

Suddenly Hector pinwheeled past him, looking helpless and red-faced, as a couple of servants swam after him as hard as they could. The party goers laughed as Hector buzzed by, then returned to their conversations. Leoh put out a hand, but the Watchman was past and disappeared into the crowd again.

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!

He rushed down into them, accidentally pushing three Jeweled and cloaked businessmen into an equal number of mini-gowned wives, stepping on the foot of a burly Acquatainian colonel, and jostling through the new arrivals to get to Geri Dulaq.

“You came,” he said, taking both her hands in his.

Her smile made his knees flutter. “I hoped you’d be here, Hector.”

“I… well,” he was grinning like an idiot, “I’m here.”

“I’m glad.”

They stood there at the air lock entrance, looking at each other, while people elbowed their way around them to get into the party.

“Hector, shouldn’t we move away from the air lock?” Geri suggested gently.

“Huh? Oh, sure.… He walked her toward a slightly sweaty servant (one of the posse who had chased Hector across the satellite) and then took a stabilizer belt from him.

“You’ll need one of these belts before you try to float Otherwise it’s, eh, kind of tricky trying to maneuver.”

The servant gritted his teeth and glared.