But Kresh knew better than that. Constitutional theory was all very well, but the cold hard reality of it was that the state could not long survive if it were leaderless. Then what? A coup, a revolt, disintegration? It scarcely mattered which, for collapse would come soon after, no matter what. And then there was the stalled, hopeless investigation. What if it was still churning away in the background, days or weeks or months from now? They knew nothing much more now than they had at the moment Telmhock had dropped his bombshell two days before. There seemed to be nothing out there but dried-up leads. There was no sign of Bissal, no further hint as to who he had been working for, nothing.
Kresh was silent for a long moment after speaking the words of affirmation. He stood on the low platform and saw the sea of expectant faces. He knew he had to speak to these people here, to the people of the planet. He had a speech ready. But he needed a moment, a moment, to catch his breath. Things had moved too fast, too hard, in the last few days.
The assassination, the state funeral, the announcement of Kresh as the Designate, as the new Governor. All of it had rushed past. But murders and funerals and all that had to be pushed to one side just now. The whole planet had been through the same chaos as Kresh. What point in telling them what they already knew? Suddenly the words of his speech were meaningless, worthless. No. He would have to say something else, something more.
He looked out over the crowd. Donald was by his side, as were Justen Devray and Fredda Leving, but still he felt alone, exposed, as he had never felt before. It seemed as though every member of the press was there-along with every security robot on the planet. There was a solid wall of Ranger GRDs and Sheriffs office GPS units. Under the circumstances, no one had wanted to use SPRs, even if they were designed for the job.
Even robots were not enough-not today. Armed deputies and Rangers-and SSS agents-were everywhere. Kresh found himself more fearful of itchy trigger fingers and a shootout between the rival security services than of an assassin.
But he looked past the security, past the robots, past the press, and even past the VIPs, to the people. The people in their homes and houses, struggling to understand what had happened. Yes. They needed to hear from him, hear the right sort of words, hear words that would give them some sense of stability, some link with the past and the future.
Yes. Yes. He cleared his throat and spoke, threw his voice out into the silence. “Ladies and gentlemen-people of Inferno. Not just the Spacers, but you Settlers among us. All of you. All of us. All of us are in this together. A few thousand years ago, we would have called the affirmation of office something like the ritual of oath-taking, and the leader would have taken office by divine right, in the name of this god or that deity. In those days the oath-taker believed, sincerely and literally, that the gods struck down oath-breakers, or cast them into the pit of eternal night, or whatever.
“Rational, modern Spacer society has no such superstitions. Spacer society has squeezed all mention of gods and afterlives and supernatural justice out of its oaths and promises. There is no juice left in the words. We have nothing left but careful, perhaps somewhat pompous phrases a person has to speak before she or he takes on a job. There is something to be said for living in a rational age, but still, it seems to me we have lost something as well. And we must ask ourselves-just how could we call our age rational when a random gunman can exterminate the greatest man of the age, and then remain at large?
“None of us realized just how vital Chanto Grieg was to everything until he was gone. People loved him, or hated him-but he was the glue, the man who pulled everything else together. Now there is no center, nothing and no one to serve as the focus for everything else. Our progressives have no leaders, our conservatives no enemy. Chanto Grieg is gone, and none of his friends or enemies were prepared for a world without him. And even his enemies realize now just how great a friend they have lost. For Chanto Grieg fought fair, played by the rules-and in doing so, forced all the rest of us to do the same. He and I were opposed on many-perhaps most-of the great issues of the day. But Chanto Grieg did not worry so much about such things. He only cared if a man or woman was honest, and forthright, and willing to listen. I do not know if I can live up to that short list of qualities-but now I must try. We all must try.
