“For all of these reasons, I hereby inform you that I am withdrawing you from the Designation, in favor of a new name. After suitable discussion with the new Designate, I plan to announce the new name publicly. This I expect to transpire within a few weeks. Out of respect for you, for our long association, and for your office as President of the Legislative Council, I deemed it wise to provide you with early notification of this policy.
“With deep regret and apologies for any distress this decision might cause you, I will say good-bye.”
The screen showed Grieg’s authenticator seal, and then went blank.
Shelabas Quellam stared at the blank display in slack-jawed shock. He was not the Designate. He was not the Governor. He was nothing, nobody again.
But wait just a moment. Suppose Grieg had not named a new Designate before he died? As Shelabas recalled, the old Designation remained in force until the new Designation was made. For a mad instant, he considered erasing the letter, destroying all record of it, and declaring himself the Governor at once. But no. There would be copies placed with all the proper authorities. Destroying his copy could do no good-and would only throw suspicion on him-if he was not suspected of the crime already!
He stood up suddenly, his heart pounding. Grieg’s murder! If no new Designate had been named, Shelabas Quellam was going to be a prime suspect the moment copies of Grieg’s letter were found.
So Shelabas Quellam was not the Governor-and would not be, if Grieg had indeed named a new Designate.
Shelabas Quellam was simply a man who had a first-rate motive for the murder of the Governor.
And soon, very soon, everyone in the world was going to know it.
A half hour after running out on Anshaw, Caliban had reached a place of safety, a secret rustback escape office in an unused tunnel far below Limbo City Center. The office had an unregistered-and, it was to be hoped, untraceable-hyperwave set. He was all but certain no human knew about the hideout. It meant he could monitor the news reports without fear of being taken, and have a chance to think. The news nets were full of Grieg’s death, and little else, and soon told him all he needed to know.
It required little imagination on Caliban’s part to think he and Prospero might be suspects of some sort in the case-and with good reason. Caliban had been pursued by Alvar Kresh before, and he had no wish to repeat the experience. He had to call Prospero.
Caliban was the only robot on the planet of Inferno who was obliged to use a comm center in order to place a call. That was for the very good reason that every other robot had a full hyperwave comm system built in.
Caliban had been built for a laboratory experiment, and keeping him cut off from communications with the outside world had been part of the experiment. He could have arranged to have hyperwave equipment installed long ago, but Caliban had many very good reasons for not wishing to be turned off for even as brief a time as it would take to plug in the gear. There were too many things that could happen to him while he was switched off-too many things had happened to him when he had been switched off before. There were too many humans-and robots-who did not wish him well.
Normally, not having a hyperwave link was not much of a disadvantage. Right now, he needed desperately to speak with Prospero-and he did not know where Prospero’s hidden study cell was. Prospero, too, had faced a number of threats in his day. But that did not matter. Prospero had long ago provided Caliban with a covert audio-only hyperwave link code that would connect to Prospero’s office without being traceable.
He punched the comm code and spoke as soon as the connection was made. Prospero never spoke to anyone via hyperwave until he knew who it was. “Prospero, this is Caliban.”
“Friend Caliban,” Prospero’s voice said through the speaker. “We must meet, most urgently.”
“I agree the need is urgent,” said Caliban. “This is a terrible crisis. But I feel that merely meeting will accomplish nothing.”
“We had a plan as to what to do if things went wrong,” Prospero said. “It is time for us to flee.”
“We never expected things to go this wrong,” Caliban objected. “I have no doubt your escape route would serve quite well under normal circumstances-but these are not normal circumstances. If we decamp now, we will have every human with a badge on the planet after us before nightfall. I have been tracked by Alvar Kresh before. I, for one, have no desire to be hunted again. It was only by the greatest good fortune that I survived the last time.”
“The planet is large, and I have vast experience in covert movement,” Prospero said.
