[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
of the body didn t do anyone any good, Kresh said. Beyond all that, if
Page 75
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Huthwitz was killed as a diversion, it didn t much matter who they killed. But
Commander Devray has as much as told me he thinks someone might have had very
good reasons to kill Huthwitz, and Huthwitz alone.
So what are you saying? Fredda asked.
I m saying that the two murders are related--but I haven t the faintest idea
how. Right now Donald is the only one with a theory of the crime.
Sir, I would submit that I have much more than a theory. I have means,
motive, and opportunity. I have two suspects.
Donald, you want them to be guilty, Fredda said. If they killed
Grieg, it would confirm all your strongest fears about New Law robots. But I m
no investigator, and I can see all the holes in the case against them. I agree
with Sheriff Kresh that it seems extremely unlikely that Grieg s murder was
unrelated to everything else that happened last night. How could Caliban and
Prospero have killed Huthwitz--and why would they do it? How and why did they
arrange the attack on Tonya and the phony SSS agents that took away her
assailants?
I cannot, as yet, answer those questions, Dr. Leving. And despite your
objections, they are the only suspects we have.
I agree, Kresh said. We need to bring them in. But we also need to work on
finding ourselves some other suspects as well. We re going to have to go over
the access recorder records. And we need to get hold of all the video imagery
shot by all the news outlets. We need to go over it frame by frame, and if we
can spot anything or anyone who shouldn t be there.
I can attend to that, Sheriff, Donald said.
Good. Kresh glanced up at the wall clock again. Time was moving.
Moving too damned fast. I need to draft some sort of statement, he said.
We ve waited long enough. We re not going to get things under any more
control than they are right now. I have to notify the government, and then the
public.
He stood up, rubbed his face with a tired hand, and ran his thick, stubby
fingers through his white hair. It s time to tell the world that
Chanto Grieg is dead.
_9
OTTLEY BISSAL WALKED the streets of Limbo City, straining to be invisible,
willing himself to vanish into the hustling, bustling, early-morning crowd,
watching his back to be sure there was no one watching him. It was the last
leg of the journey, and he was close, so very close. He had parked the aircar
on one side of town, and walked from there straight through the busiest
sections of the city.
Limbo was a classic boomtown, growing by leaps and bounds, stepping on its own
feet as it struggled to keep up with its new role as the world headquarters of
the reterraforming team. Technicians, designers, scientists, and construction
workers were everywhere, with New Law robots hurrying everywhere on this
urgent errand or that, and survey teams and speciality workers coming and
going from every corner of the world.
Even on a normal day, there was not a room to be had in the city, and building
new accommodations space was always a low priority to all the other vital
projects. The onslaught of YIP visitors to the Residence had only made matters
worse.
But Bissal had no need to worry. They had taken care of him, seen to it he had
a place to stay until it was allover.
Certain that he was not being followed, Bissal shouldered his way through the
worst of the crowds and made it to a less congested part of town, to an old
warehouse.
As instructed, he tried his hand at the side door security panel. It read his
palm and the door slid open.
He stepped inside, and the door slid closed. It was a rustbacking lab, with
all the hardware of the trade. But one side of the place had been set up as a
Page 76
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
rather cozy little apartment, with a bed, a mini-kitchen, a refresher, and
ample stocks of food and water. Now all he had to do was stay here, out of
sight, until they called for him, until the heat was off, until someone came
for him.
Bissal was exhausted--but he was also hungry, and he was probably too wound up
to sleep, anyway. A quick snack would give him a chance to relax and unwind
before he turned in. He hurried to the mini-kitchen and started rummaging
around for something to eat.
It s good to be safe, he thought as he opened up a fastmeal and sat down to
eat. Very good.
Your pardon, sir, but there is an urgent call for you.
Hmmm? What? Excuse me? Shelabas Quellam, President of the Legislative
Council, was not yet fully awake. He sat up in bed and blinked sleepily at his
personal robot. What is it, Keflin?
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
Page 77
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]