It took me a moment to realize who he was, because at first glance he looked pretty much like any other middle-aged male. I wondered if the current incumbent was a long distant descendant of John Howard, a man who had been prime minister for quite a number of years in my day. "Who are you?" the Chancellor immediately demanded. "You're not Allan Howard." "How observant of you," the unattractive holographic head sneered. With a jolt of horror I realized who he was. "Ian Rembrandt!" I grasped Jordan's sleeve. After watching various military hovers and craft head for the stricken space-port from our lofty window, we had returned to our positions around the table, feeling lost and helpless. I could tell the men were itching to join their troops, search for and help any survivors, but they were at the mercy of the Chancellor. Once he'd finished negotiating with the other chancellors and the First Chancellor in the privacy of his office at the other end of the room, he had ordered everyone to stay put.
