“Do you feel any better?” I asked as he sat up and stretched. “I do. I must thank you, for everything.”

  “Do you have any idea of what we should do next to get out of here?” He looked around. “Where is here?” “Coast road. A few Ks south of Puerto Azul.” “Can you fly a jet copter?”

  “I can fly anything. Why do you ask—do you have one in

  your pocket?”

  “No, but there is a small private airfield a short distance down the coast. There are craft of all sizes there. Of course it is guarded and there are alarms …”

  My snort was not one of anger, but rather more like that of a warhorse about to go into battle. My fatigue was gone, I was flying from the uppers, and looking forward to one last quick round of breaking and entering and mugging before taking off for home. It had really been a busy couple of days.

  Jorge tried to help, but I instructed him to remain in the car since he would only be in my way. I shorted the alarm in the barbed-wire fence, went over it silent as a snake—and within ten minutes came strolling back to unlock the gate.

  “You make it look so simple,” Jorge said with justified admiration as we drove into the field.

  “Each man to his trade,” I murmured deprecatorily. “I’m

  The Stainless Steel Rat for President 103

  sure that I would make a rotten tourist guide. Now we will leave the car here out of sight, and take that sport copter. Don’t trip over the bodies, that’s right.”

  By the time he had his seatbelt buckled I had hot-wired the ignition, fired up the engines and turned on the navigation circuitry. I tapped the illuminated map projection.

  “We’ll head for Primoroso—then turn sharply here over the Barrier and on to the marquez’s castle. Are you ready?” He nodded and we lifted into the air.

  It was an easy flight. Not a single blip appeared on our radar and there wasn’t even a disturbance when we crossed the Barrier. I maintained radio silence until Castle de la Rosa appeared on the screen, then identified myself and brought the ship in. The landing pad was brightly lit, and in this welcoming illumination there awaited the three most important people in the galaxy. Important to me, that is.

  I dropped from the copter and, with a quick wave to my sons, embraced their mother in such a satisfactory fashion that they clapped encouragement.

  “I’ve been missing that,” Angelina said, holding me away at arm’s length. “They haven’t hurt you, have they? If they have, this planet is going to be littered with corpses very quickly.”

  “Desist, my love! If anything the opposite is true. I have cut a mean swath through the ranks of the enemy, have won many a fiercely fought contest, have gained us new friends and comrades, cheated at cards, and generally kept myself quite busy while I have been away. How has it been here?” “Very quiet. The marquez is recovering nicely, so the boys and I have used the opportunity to make detailed plans.” “Plans of what?” The drugs were wearing off, fatigue struck and I stifled a yawn.

  “Plans for you to conduct the crookedest election campaign in the history of electoral politics. It will be a watershed of illegality, a monument of chicanery, a cacophony of corruption.” Jorge stared with disbelief as the rest of us cheered iinl-hiKliaitifallv

  Chapter 19

  We sat on the balcony in the glorious morning sunlight, the ruins of our breakfast whisked away by silent servants, sipping a last bit of coffee Jo hold everything down. It was Angelina, ever practical, who finally touched her lips daintily with her napkin and got down to work.

  “While you were away I took the opportunity of going through the marquez’s library. One of his predecessors had the hobby of collecting universities. There must be nearly a thousand of them.”

  This is not an ordinary hobby, and might even be called an eccentric one. Though it is certainly easy enough to do if you have the money. Not that a university itself costs that much;

  one of them will fit on a solid-state disc that you can hold on the palm of your hand. It shouldn’t cost more than a bottle of

  rum. The expense comes in traveling about the galaxy, to all of the out-of-the-way planets, to root around in secondhand

  memory shops and find any old universities that they might have.

  “I went through all the university libraries and crossreferenced everything that I could find cataloged on illicit elections and dirty politics. There were plenty of listings, but all of the books I dipped into just complained about this sort ofnastiness and how to prevent it without going into details.” “Most unsatisfactory.”

  “Indeed. Until I ran this incredibly ancient university. The chip was cracked and gray with age, the name of the school itself illegible. It was so old it might actually have come from Earth. In any case the library was almost intact, and in it I found the book that we will use as our bible. I did a printout of it.”

  She took a heavy sheaf of typescript from the floor, and passed it over to me.

  “How to Win Elections,” I read. “Subtitled, Or How to

  The Stainless Steel Rat for President 105

  Vote the Cemetery, by Seamus O’Neill. What can that subtide possibly mean?”

  “Read on. It is a technique that we will be using soon ourselves, where every name from every tombstone is entered into the voting register.”

  I read on as instructed—and my enthusiasm grew with every sentence.

  “Joy!” I said. “Simply incredible. The man’s a genius. You

  are a genius as well, my sweet, for discovering this. We cannot fail.”

  “Nor shall we. The boys have already begun preparations and we should be able to launch the campaign within a week. Barring unforseen accidents the election is as good as in the bag. And our biggest asset will be GeneralPresident Zapilote himself.”

  “You wouldn’t care to explain that. Perhaps I’m being a little dense today …”

  “He will aid us because of the way he has run his campaigns in the past. Since he controls all the media he has simply gone through the reflex of a campaign. Recorded speeches on television, sycophantic praise in the newspapers, and an overwhelming vote from the electronic polling booths which are rigged to give him ninety percent of the votes no matter how they are cast. ” “And that is going to help us?”

  “Of course,” she said sweetly, smiling indulgently at me as

  one would upon a moronic child. “We shall electronically usurp the television, print our own editions of the newspapers—and rig the polling booths on the side of righteousness.” Well you can’t argue with anything like that. I could only nod in agreement, finish my coffee, then retire to the makeup box and put on my black Harapo beard. While I was doing this I did a speed read through O’Neill’s book. It was a revelation. If he were alive today he would surely be elected galactic president; if there were no such title he would have to invent it. My previous reference book for political chicanery was The Education of a Prince by Mac OVelly. But this was a nursery primer compared to O’Neill’s masterpiece. When I was bearded and costumed for my Harapo role I summoned a consul of war. The campaign was about to begin. My family gathered around in eager anticipation, and only de Torres looked concerned about the future.

  “This meetine is called to order.” I announced. “As oresi—

  106 The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  dential candidate of the Nobles and Peasants and Workers Party, I intend to make a few appointments. Bolivar, you are secretary of the new party. So please fire up your recorder and take notes. James is rally organizer—which job I will explain in a momeat. It is my hope that Angelina diGriz will accept the position of campaign manager, which position also includes the task of getting out the women’s vote as well. Do

  you accept?” I counted the nodding heads and nodded in return. “Good. That appears to take care of the appointments.” “Not quite,” de Torres said. “I have another and most important one to make, if I might?”

  “Of course—you’re the vice-presidential candidate. If I’ve missed something, please let me know.”

  He clapped his hands and the door opened. A slight and unassuming man entered and bowed slightly in our direction.

  “This is Edwin Rodriguez,” de Torres said. “He will be the presidential bodyguard and will accompany you everywhere. We must not have a repeat of the near-disaster that happened in Primoroso. Rodriguez will guard you, detect and eliminate assassins and generally look after your good health.”

  I looked the man up and down and tried not to smile. “Thank you, marquez. But while I appreciate the thought I

  can take care of myself. And I’m afraid this youth might get hurt…” “Rodriquez,” the marquez said. “An assassin at the window!” My ears rang from the sound of the shots—and I realized that I was lying on the floor under the table and that Rodriguez

  was kneeling on my back. There was a sizeable and smoking revolver in his hand which was pointed at the window. Most of which had been blown away by the flurry of well-placed shots.

  “The attack is over,” de Torres said, and the weight was removed from my back. I stood and dusted off my trousers and regained my chair. The marqubz nodded approval. “Just

  a small demonstration. Rodriguez is my master-at-arms. I sent for him after he became planetary martial arts champion, as well as winning first place in the small arms competition. I have never regretted that decision.”

  “Nor will I,” I said, looking at the now motionless form of

  my new protector. “I appreciate the thought. And I am pretty sure that he will have plenty to do once the campaign begins. Which will be within a few days. We must catch

  The Stainless Steel Rat for President 107

  Zapilote off-balance and keep him that way. We will begin with an election irally.” “And just what is that?” de Torres asked.

  “A form of religious revival meeting where speeches are made, babies kissed, free food and drink consumed by the potential voters. A mixture of carnival, worship and bribery. We will make promises, attack the present regime, and see to it that we have excellent press coverage.”

  The marqu6z shook his head. “It will be suicide. There will be guns, assassination attempts. Zapilote will not let us get

  away with it. I know the man. He is perfectly capable of dropping a tactical atom bomb on this rally to make sure he gets rid of us. He would take out an entire city to make sure he eliminated the competition.”

  I smiled and nodded. “I agree completely. Therefore we will not hold the rally in Primoroso, or Ciudad Aguilella or any of the other major cities. Instead we shall hold the first meeting in the small and undistinguished seaside resort of Puerto Azul.”

  “Why there?” The marquez was puzzled. Angelina caught

  on instantly and clapped her hands with pleasure.

  “It will be held there because that little town is stuffed full of offplanet tourists. This will guarantee our protection since he cannot permit any of them to be hurt. Nor will he commit

  any violence in their presence. It is the perfect place for a rally. My husband is certainly using his brains.” I nodded my thanks for the compliment, as well as for the fact that she had not added ‘for a change’.

  “How do we get there without being blown up on the way?” James asked. This was indeed a problem. “A good question. Do we go by road or by air?” “Air would be wisest,” the marquez said. “Once past the Barrier, Zapilote’s forces control the roads. We would have to fight our way through. But he has only a few fighter planes and no other air force to speak of. He has never needed one. He controls all the air traffic, owns all the aircraft, other than the few copters and transports that our people have.” “But he could mount an air attack?”

  “It is conceivable. There are police gunships in addition to the fighters.”

  “We’ll take precautions.” I pointed at Bolivar. “Make a note to use the MES to amolifv some weapon systems and

  108 The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  early warning detection apparatus. If they do try anything funny we’ll get them first. ” “As good as done. Dad—1 mean President.” “All right. The next order of business is a venue for the colligation…”

  “You’re not even a politician yet,” Angelina said, “but you’re talking like one already.”

  “Sorry. It must be catching. I mean, at what place will we hold the rally?”

  “There is a large stadium in Puerto Azul,” de Torres said. “That is where the bull fights are held every Sunday.” “Bull fights?” I asked. It sounded nasty.

  “Yes. It is an interesting taurine event. It features mutated bulls wearing boxing gloves … “

  “Sounds nice. We must go some time. But for the present

  we need the stadium for our rally. Which must be kept a secret until the last moment. Any suggestions?” “Let Jorge arrange it,” Angelina said. “He was a tourist guide there so he will know whom to contact. We’ll book it in the name of a front organization, a folklorico display for the tourists or something like that.”

  “Perfect. Then we swoop down during the day, stay in one of the tourist hotels, make speeches on street corners, distribute free tickets to all the voters. And the campaign is launched. Any more suggestions? No? Then I declare this meeting closed and suggest we all repair to the garden for a drink before lunch.”

  “Champagne,” the marquez announced firmly. “To toast a successful campaign. And to mark the end to this era of misrule.”

  Chapter 20

  Our little armada left at dawn, four jetcopters and an ancient fixed-wing aircraft that was stuffed full of our campaign supplies. The sun shone, the day was perfect—until a few minutes after we crossed the Barrier when two blips appeared at the very limit of our radar detection screen.

  “They’re on a convergent track. Dad,” Bolivar said, running the reading through the computer. He was in charge of the detection instrumentation; his brother manned our defenses. I looked at the approaching blips and turned on the radio.

  “This is the MarquBz de la Rosa flight calling two aircraft

  now approaching our position. Please identify yourself.” I waited impatiently for a reply but the airwaves were silent. The blips closed in quickly. “Blow them out of the air before they can fire at us!” the marquez said, fists clenched, glaring at the screen. I shook my head.

  “They must attack us first. The cameras are recording all this and I want the record absolutely clear that if there is any violence that we were merely defending ourselves.” “Those words will make a fine epitaph for our tombstones. They are within range!”

  “They’ve fired missiles!” James announced, touching buttons in quick succession. “Counter-missiles launched. Look there, about two o’clock, you’ll see the result.” Sudden white clouds burst into silent existence, then fell behind us as the flight moved on.

  “Attack craft turning away,” Bolivar said. They were all looking at me. I could not speak. “They’re escaping, almost out of range.” The marqugz’s harsh words broke the silence. “Fire! Take them out.”

  James’s finger was poised over the firing button and it slammed down by reflex at the order. I turned away and looked out of the forward windows. Trying not see the two

  109

  110 The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  gouts of red flame exploding off to one side. I was aware of Angelina behind me, her hands on my arms, her voice so low that only I could hear it.

  “I understand—and I love you for it. But you must understand our feelings as well. They tried to murder us. And would have tried it again if they had not been stopped. It was self-defense.”

  I worked to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “I understand only too well. But that’s not the way I want it, not the

  way existence should be. The killing …”

  “Will be over after the election. That’s why you are running for president. To replace the man who ordered this action.” **

  There was no point in any further discussion. I suppose we

  were both right from our own points of view. The paid killers who had flown those craft would kill no longer. And Angelina

  was right—the only way to permanently end this violence was to win the election.

  “Let me look at my speech again,” I said. “I want to get it memorized perfectly.” Angelina turned away in silence—but her parting kiss on my cheek spoke volumes.

  That was the last of our airborne problems. The blue ocean

  soon came into view, then the white buildings of Puerto Azul. The campaign fleet circled above the field while our copter with the detection instruments made a sweep of the area. When all of the instrument readings were zero, we came in. I pointed to the row of pink tourist rental cars lined up at the edge of the field.

  “Everything in order so far. Let’s roll!”

  And roll we did, rolling the votemobile out of the open tail of the cargo plane. This had been the marquez’s most luxurious saloon. It still was—plus a few additions. It was now a brilliant white with red-lettered HARAPO FOR PRESIDENT

  on one side, and HARAPO’S THE ONE! on the other. An overpowered PA system played martial music while it was on the move, and there was an elevated platform where the rear seat had been. The marquez and I would ride there, waving at the crowd, with nothing between us and them except thin air. And an invisible force field that would block any laser beams aimed at us, would slow and stop bullets as well.

  Within a few minutes our equipment and supplies were loaded into the rental cars and our little victory parade rolled