“A call, sir, “ the robot replied. “It seems to be most urgent, coming on a government channel.”
“Oh, dear. Well, then, I’d best take it at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
A second robot appeared, carrying a portable comm-link unit. The second robot held the unit with one hand as it activated it with the other. Quellam watched the screen as it cleared and saw that it was that Sheriff fellow. Klesh? Klersh? Something like that. In any event, he looked perfectly dreadful. And no wonder, at this time of night. But what in the world could it all be about?
“Good evening, Sheriff. Or rather, good morning. What can I do for you?”
“Sir, forgive me for calling at this hour,” Kresh said, “but I have some very bad news. The Governor has been murdered.”
The Governor has been murdered. It later seemed to Shelabas that the Sheriff must have said more after that—he even remembered acting on advice Kresh must have given him at that moment—but he could not recall hearing any of it at all.
He was too busy trying to contain his sense of glee while trying to pretend he was sorry Grieg was dead. Too bad the poor fellow was gone, but Shelabas Quellam suffered no illusions. He knew what people in general thought of him—and he knew very well what Grieg in particular had thought of him. Grieg might have named Quellam his Designate, but Grieg had never respected Quellam.
But now, at last, at long last, he, Shelabas Quellam, would be the Governor.
At last, long last, the world was going to find out that Shelabas Quellam was a man to be taken seriously.
Sheriff Alvar Kresh stood alone before the robot camera in the Residence’s broadcast studio.
Justen Devray stood by his side, but that did not matter. Alvar was alone, as alone as he had ever been. Even as he spoke, he knew the words he spoke would be the image that the world would remember. Twenty years from now, if anyone spoke of Alvar Kresh, it would be to talk of his standing before this camera, haggard and exhausted, speaking words he did not want to say, speaking to a world that would not want to hear.
Not that many would be awake to hear, not at this hour. Few would be tuned in to the news channels. Some nets might not even carry the announcement live. But everyone would see it, soon enough. People would call each other, retrieve the record, listen to the words, over and over again through the day, the week, the month.
Only a handful of people would hear him now. But all the people of this world—and people on other worlds, and people not yet born—would hear what he had to say, sooner or later.
Strange to think that when all he had for an audience now was Justen Devray and a robot camera operator.
“People of Inferno. Good morning to you. I am deeply grieved to make the following announcement,” Kresh said. “At approximately 0200 hours last night, I, Sheriff Alvar Kresh, discovered the body of Governor Chanto Grieg at the Governor’s Winter Residence. He had been shot through the chest at close range by a blaster, by parties unknown and for reasons unknown. I immediately called in a team of Sheriff’s office investigators. I then obtained the assistance of Commander Devray of the Governor’s Rangers, and we secured the Winter Residence as a crime scene. I have notified Shelabas Quellam, the President of the Legislative Council.
“Legislator Quellam, Commander Devray, and I are all determined to use all the personnel and resources at our disposal, both to find the perpetrators of this crime and to insure the stability of our government during this time of crisis. I realize that I have left a great deal unsaid, but there is little more I can say that would be useful or reliable at this time. We will, of course, provide as much information as we possibly can, as soon as we possibly can, consistent with the requirements of a thorough investigation.”
Kresh paused for a moment, looked down at his notes, and then back at the camera. That was all he had written down, but it seemed as if there was something more he should say.
“This is—this is terrible news for all of us, and a shock as deep as any our people have ever known. Though I rarely agreed with Chanto Grieg, I always respected him. He was a man who could see ahead, to the dangers and the promises of the future. Let us not lose sight of his vision now, or let him die for things that were not to be. I ask all of you for strength and forbearance in the days ahead, and I thank you. Good morning—and good luck to us all.”
Gubber Anshaw, the noted robotic theorist, went through phases concerning his daily routine. There were times he worked late into the night, and other times he rose with the sun and got to bed not much past sunset. It was Gubber who had invented the gravitonic brain that made New Law robots possible, and he was kept constantly busy in the effort to study the New Law robots, learn what made them tick. He wanted to find ways to make them more efficient, more productive, and that meant observing his creations at work. That, in turn, often meant working at odd hours.
There were pleasures in seeing every hour of the day, to be sure. Few men saw as many sunrises, as many sunsets, as many of the midnight stars, as Gubber Anshaw. But the dawn gave him no pleasure that morning. Not with the terrible news.
He was in the solarium, his personal robot serving him breakfast, when he heard the first report. Almost before he knew it, he was rushing to the bedroom, bursting in on Tonya, still asleep.
Tonya. Tonya Welton. Even in that moment of horror and panic, there was still a tiny part of him that paused to marvel at the fact that the beautiful, hard-edged, tough-minded Settler leader loved him, lived with him, lived with a soft-spoken robot designer. There were not many Spacer-Settler couples in the universe, and there were good reasons for that. It was never easy living with Tonya. But it was always exciting, and always worth it.
“Tonya!” Gubber went to the bed and shook Tonya’s shoulder. “Tonya! Wake up!”
“Hmmn? Hmm? What?” Tonya sat up in bed, yawning. “Gubber, what in the stars is it?”
“It’s Grieg! Governor Grieg! He’s been assassinated!”
“What?”
“Shot dead! Sheriff Kresh just announced it a few minutes ago. No real details yet—but Grieg’s dead!”
“Burning hell,” Tonya said, shock and astonishment in her voice. “Last night. I saw him, talked to him last night. And he’s dead?”
“Dead,” Gubber agreed.
“And they don’t know who did it?”
“I don’t think so. They said they were still investigating. But they aren’t going to say anything for a while, no matter what happens.”
Tonya reached for him, and they threw their arms around each other, held each other tight. “This is trouble, Gubber,” said Tonya, her voice a bit muffled with her face in Gubber’s chest. “Trouble for everyone.”
“Yes, yes.”
“But who did it?” Tonya asked, pulling back a little to look into Gubber’s face. “Some lunatic? Was it a plot? Why did they do it?”
Gubber shook his head and thought a minute. “I don’t know,” he said, forcing himself to settle down and think it through, forcing himself to be rational. “It doesn’t matter. The chaos will be the same. All sorts of people will try and take advantage of Grieg’s death. If it wasn’t someone trying to take over who killed him, then someone else is going to try taking over now that he’s dead.”
Tonya Welton nodded, her expression dazed and confused. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said.
“Maybe we should try and get away,” Gubber said. “Get off-planet. There’s going to be trouble.”
“No,” Tonya snapped. Her face took on a hard, set expression. “We can’t. I can’t. I’m here to lead the Settlers on Inferno, not to run off and leave them when there’s trouble.” She stared deep into Gubber’s eyes, but then she seemed to be looking right through him, past him, at something else “Oh, no,” she said. “Oh, no.”
“What is it?” Gubber asked, grabbing her by the shoulders, trying to get her attention. “Tonya, what is it?”
“The dust-up last night,” Tonya said. “I told you about it when I got in. The two men who got in a fight with me, and were taken away by the phony SSS agents.”