"Allen, Roger MacBride - Isaac Asimov's Robot Mysteries 02 - Isaac Asimov's Inferno" - читать интересную книгу автора (Allen Roger Macbride)

Still, something had to be done to assure an orderly succession in the event of the GovernorТs death, incapacity, or voluntary resignation. Instead of having a Vice Governor, each Governor was required to name a Governor-Designate, to be appointed to the office. Tradition dictated that the DesignateТs name be kept secret, and that the Governor could name a new Designate at any time. Many a Governor had used the Designation as both carrot and stick.
There were, however, circumstances under which the GovernorТs choice of successor was null and void. In the event of the GovernorТs impeachment and conviction, or his recall by the electorate, it was clearly unwise in the extreme to allow a disgraced Governor to designate his or her successor. Should the Governor be removed from office by any of those means, the Council President would serve as Governor, and could, if he or she saw fit, call new elections. Or not call elections. The new Governor could elect to serve out the remainder of his or her predecessorТs term. And Grieg had over seventeen years left to serve.
In the old days, all the elaborate contingencies set down in the constitution had been nothing but mere gamesmanship, rules written for the pleasure of writing rules and making everything tidy. More than likely, the idea that they might someday have practical significance never entered the heads of the people who wrote them.
But now, quite suddenly, the impeachment of the Governor was very much a possibility--and that meant that Shelabas Quellam was now a man of some importance.
In fact, his importance went beyond the threat of impeachment. It was well known that Grieg did not approve of playing games with the succession, and felt that there should be a statutory arrangement that covered all contingencies, and that the current arrangements were overly complex. In that spirit, he had named Quellam as his Designate as well. One or two wags had suggested that with Quellam next in line for the Governorship, no matter what, everyone would take special care to see that Grieg stayed healthy and well.
Phrost dredged a gentle smile up from somewhere and put his arm around QuellamТs shoulders. ДCome, come,У he said. ДIt certainly isnТt worth getting that upset about. У Of course, it was worth getting upset about. Phrost had been attempting to get next to Tonya Welton for weeks, and this little incident could set back a lot of his plans. However, as one or two of those plans made use of Shelabas in one way or another, it would profit Phrost not at all to lose his temper at the man--especially in public.
Besides, Shelabas was not entirely to blame. Phrost and Welton had been getting close to arguing even before Quellam came over. The mood of the party had been edgy from the start. There was an air of expectation about the place, the feeling that something was going to happen. There were too many different factions represented in the room, too many undercurrents, too much underlying tension. Something had to give. Something had to snap.
But when it did, a moment later, even Sero Phrost was surprised by how fast and furious it was.

3

TONYA WELTON STALKED away from Shelabas Quellam, trying to calm herself. Could the man be that much of a fool? Did he really believe that Tonya would want to limit Settler smuggling operations? Surely the Spacer intelligence services knew what she had been up to. Did Quellam even read the intelligence reports? Or maybe the intell services didnТt bother--or didnТt dare--to give their reports to the President of the Legislative Council.
Could anyone be that dense? Perhaps it all was nothing more than an act. But an act in aid of what? What purpose could it serve for Quellam to put the SettlersТ leader in an awkward position?
ДHey! YouТre the Settler lady, arenТt you?У a rather thick-sounding voice bellowed from behind her.
Tonya turned with a frown and found herself face-to-face with a rather bleary-faced man wearing the latest version of the Ironhead uniform. The severely cut black-and-grey outfit was rather disheveled, to put it mildly, and it was cut a half size too tight for the wearer. A few of the fasteners looked as if they were likely to give way. ДYes,У she said. СTm the Settler lady. Tonya Welton. У Sometimes it was best to be polite to drunks. If you brushed them off too abruptly, they could get belligerent.
ДYeah, I thought so,У the Ironhead said. ДRobot hater. YouТre a robot hater,У he said, and nodded to himself, as if he had just revealed some hidden truth.
ДI donТt know if IТd put it quite that strongly,У Tonya said, Дbut no, I donТt approve of them. Now if youТll excuse me, I really must--У
ДWait a second!У the Ironhead said. ДJusТ a second. You got it all wrong. Let me explain about robots, and then youТll see.У
ДThank you, no,У Tonya said. ДNot just now.У
She turned and walked away.
ДHey!У the man cried out from behind her. ДJusТ a second!У
And then he put his hand on her shoulder.
Tonya shoved his hand away and spun around to face him.
ДDonТt you walk away from me,У the man said, and reached for her. Maybe he just wanted to grab at her again, maybe he was taking a deliberate swing at her. His open hand caught her hard across the chin, a hard slap. Trained reflex took over as Tonya dropped back a step or two and gave the man a kick to the head, sending him sprawling.
ДHey!У another voice shouted from behind, giving Tonya all the warning she needed. She heard the one behind her grunt as he lunged for her, and she ducked down to make him hit her higher than he meant to.
He slammed into her from the back, knocking the wind out of her. She grabbed for his collar and pulled him forward, using his momentum to throw him over her shoulder.
He hit the ground with a hard slap. Another Ironhead, all right, but this one in good enough shape not to look ridiculous in the uniform. He was already up, shaking off the impact, heading for her--
And then strong robotic arms were on her, and another robot made a grab for her second attacker. It was over.
Tonya struggled to escape, even though she knew it was pointless.
She hated it when someone else finished what she had started.

Now. Now. Now was the moment. The SSS guards on the door had pulled out twenty-five minutes before, just as Bissal had been promised. Nothing to worry about besides whatever Rangers might be by the door.
Ottley Bissal, hovering at the edge of a crowd of late arrivals, checked his watch for the dozenth time. Now. He pulled his quite legitimate invitation from his pocket, to have it ready in case he was challenged. He stepped into the knot of laughing, happy people and allowed himself to be swept up as they went inside.
Inside. Inside the GovernorТs Residence. He was here, he had made it. It was all happening just the way they had promised it would.
He felt a sense of triumph wash over him. But now was not the time for such things. Keep your mind on the task at hand. He had something under two minutes to get where he was going.
Unseen, unnoticed, Ottley Bissal hurried toward his goal.

The first Alvar Kresh knew of the altercation was the sound of it, muffled shouts and cries corning from the great hall as he was waiting to be admitted into the GovernorТs private office. He ran back down the hallway, with Donald far out in the lead.
Kresh rushed down the stairs, but stopped three or four stops from the bottom. A remarkable tableau greeted him. The robot Caliban was holding Tonya Welton from behind, keeping her arms pinned behind her and struggling--without much success--to keep her from kicking out with her legs.
Another robot, jet-black and somewhat shorter than Caliban, was doing his best to keep a man in an Ironhead uniform out of range of WeltonТs rather well-aimed kicks. As the man was doing his best to break free and rush at Welton, the second robot was not having an easy time of it. Damnation! Now Kresh remembered. The black robot was Prospero, one of the more visible of the New Law robots.
The robots and the humans they were restraining were surrounded by a pack of astonished party-goers, four or five Rangers in waiterТs uniforms clearly on the alert, but not quite sure what to do. The whole room was in a general state of turmoil.
Kresh realized that another Ironhead was out cold, flat on his back, a bit too close to the flailing would-be combatants for anyone to get to him and render aid without risking the receipt of a misaimed punch or kick. Donald, however, had no reason to fear injury from anything a human could dish out, and would not have cared if he did. He rushed between Welton and the conscious Ironhead and got to the man who was down.
ДAll right, quiet! Д Kresh shouted, with enough authority behind it that the crowd went quiet. Kresh made his way down the last few stairs, and the wall of people parted in front of him. He was tempted to ask what had happened, but he knew damn well that was the best way to get everyone talking and shouting allover again. At least Welton and the still-conscious Ironhead had been distracted enough by his entrance to calm down a bit. Kresh turned to the Ironhead first, still being held by the black robot.
ДYou,У he said. ДYou, the Ironhead. WhatТs your name?У
ДBlare. Reslar Blare,У the man said. ДShe started it. Deam was just corning up to talk to her, and she kicked him in the head!У
ДTalk!У Welton said. ДHe talked to me with a punch in the head.У
ДSheriff Kresh! Sheriff Kresh! Д Kresh turned to see Simcor Beddle pulling at his sleeve, looking rather more flustered and anxious than a short, fat man in a uniform could without looking ridiculous. ДThese two men are not Ironheads,У Beddle announced.
ДThen why are they wearing your damned comic opera uniforms?У Welton demanded.
ДThey are not Ironheads, I tell you!У Beddle protested. ДI know all the men and women entitled to wear uniforms of their rank--and I have never seen these two before! Someone has sent them to cause a provocation and blame us!У
That was nearly plausible, Kresh admitted to himself. Beddle had been trying to move his people a bit closer to respectability in recent months, with more of an eye toward the ballot box than bullyboy techniques.