Part 6 (1/2)
”Here's all we know, sir,” the sergeant said, giving him a radioprint slip. ”Came in ten minutes ago.”
It was an all-station priority telecast. Governor-General Harrington had died suddenly, in his room, at 2210; there were no details. He glanced at his watch; it was 2243. Konkrook and Skilk were in the same time-zone; that was fast work. He handed the slip to Mordkovitz, who gave it to Keaveney.
”You from the telecast station, sergeant?” he asked. ”All right, in that case, let's go.”
As he hurried from the banquet-room, he could hear Keaveney tapping on his wine-gla.s.s.
”Everybody, please! Let me have your attention! There has just come in a piece of the most tragic news....”
A woman captain met him just inside the door of the big soundproofed room of the telecast station, next to the Administration Building.
”We have a wavelength open to Konkrook, general,” she said. ”In booth three.”
Another girl, a tech-sergeant, was in the booth; on the screen was the image of a third young woman, a lieutenant, at Konkrook station. The sergeant rose and started to leave the booth.
”Stick around, sergeant,” von Schlichten told her. ”I'll want you to take over when I'm through.” He sat down in front of the combination visiscreen and pickup. ”Now, lieutenant; just what happened?” he asked. ”How did he die?”
”We think it was poison, general. General M'zangwe has ordered autopsy and chemical a.n.a.lysis. If you can wait about ten minutes, he'll be able to talk to you, himself.”
”Call him. In the meantime, give me everything you know.”
”Well, at about 2210, the Kragan guard-sergeant on that floor heard ten pistol-shots, as fast as they could be fired semi-auto, in the governor's room. The door was locked, but he shot it off with his own pistol and went in. He found Governor Harrington on the floor, wearing only his gown, holding an empty pistol. He was in convulsions, frothing at the mouth, in horrible pain. Evidently he'd fired his pistol, which he kept on his desk, to call help; all the bullets had gone into the ceiling. One of the medics got there in five minutes, just as he was dying. He'd written his diary up to noon of today, and broken off in the middle of a word. There was a bottle and an overturned gla.s.s on his desk. The Constabulary got there a few minutes later, and then Brigadier-General M'zangwe took charge. A white rat, given fifteen drops from the whiskey-bottle, died with the same symptoms in about ninety seconds.”
”Who had access to the whiskey-bottle?”
”A geek servant, who takes care of the room. He was caught, an hour earlier, trying to slip off the island without a pa.s.s; they were holding him at the guardhouse when Governor Harrington died. He's now being questioned by the Kragans.” The girl's face was bleakly remorseless. ”I hope they do plenty to him!”
”I hope they don't kill him before he talks.”
”Wait a moment, general; we have General M'zangwe, now,” the girl said. ”I'll switch you over.”
The screen broke into a kaleidoscopic jumble of color, then cleared; the chocolate-brown face of M'zangwe was looking out of it.
”I heard what happened, how they found him, and about that geek chamber-valet being arrested,” von Schlichten said. ”Did you get anything out of him?”
”He's admitted putting poison in the bottle, but he claims it was his own idea. But he's one of Father Keeluk's paris.h.i.+oners, so....”
”Keeluk! G.o.d d.a.m.n, so that was it!” von Schlichten almost shouted.
”Now I know what he wanted with Stalin, and that goat, and those rabbits! Of course they'd need terrestrial animals, to find out what would poison a Terran! Who's in charge at Konkrook now?”
”Not much of anybody. Laviola, the Fiscal Secretary, and Hans Meyerstein, the Banking Cartel's lawyer, and Howlett, the Personnel Chief, and Buhrmann, the Commercial Secretary, have made up a sort of quadrumvirate and are trying to run things. I don't know what would happen if anything came up suddenly....” A blue-gray uniformed arm, with a major's cuff-braid, came into the screen, handing a slip of paper to M'zangwe; he took it, glanced at it, and swore. Von Schlichten waited until he had read it through.
”Well, something has, all right,” the African said. ”Just got a call from Jaikark's palace--a revolt's broken out, presumably headed by Gurgurk; Household Guards either mutinied or wiped out by the mutineers, all but those twenty Kragan Rifles we loaned Jaikark. They, and about a dozen of Jaikark's courtiers and their personal retainers, are holding the approaches to the King's apartments. The native-lieutenant in charge of the Kragans just radioed in; says the situation is desperate.”
”When a Kragan says that, he means d.a.m.n near hopeless. Is this being recorded?” When M'zangwe nodded, he continued. ”All right. Use the recording for your authority and take charge. I'm declaring martial rule at Konkrook, as of now, 2258. Tell Eric Blount what's happened, and what you've done, as soon as you can get in touch with him at Keegark. I'm leaving for Konkrook at once! I ought to get in by 0800.