The Stainless Steel Rat for President ssr-5

by Harry Harrison

  The shadows were lengthening across the floor before I did. A secondary reference to a sub-clause in an appendix relating to additional addenda. I read it once quickly, and as I did I felt a warm glow suffuse my body. Then I went through it again, more slowly, dancing a little jig as the glowing letters moved across the screen.

  “Eureka!” I cried, unable to contain myself any longer. Then Eureka! again as I keyed in the computer’s voice simulator, then actuated it to say Eureka too. And to repeat itself in a number of different voices and melodies. Within moments a chorus of booming “Eurekas!” was filling the air. Angelina appeared at the doorway and lifted one quizzical eyebrow.

  “I thought you might have something to do with this insane chorus. Dare I guess? Does it have any bearing on our little problem?” “Big problem, my sweet!” I said, seizing her hands and dancing her around the room. “A large problem that appeared insoluble until this very minute, though don’t tell anyone else that. I would not want to spoil my reputation for infallibility. I have come up with an answer that is so simple I dare not breathe it aloud-to any other than you-in case word might reach the forces of evil that oppose us. They could easily avert disaster if they knew in time what I was planning. But they shall not know-and this evening’s news broadcast will be designed to so infuriate Zapilote that he will work his evil will to excess. Come-to the recording studio!” I am not a sadist at heartso I reallv was not overioved that our broadcast would spoil many a TV viewer’s evening. But I needed prime time for my announcement. The program I planned to interrupt could easily be repeated-though I couldn’t imagine why. It was a loathsome series about a family of perverted sadists who ran a boarding kennel cum insane asylum where people could leave off their nutsy relatives when they went on vacation. It was entitled Ain’t Love Grand and was purported to be watched by one hundred and eight percent of the viewing audience. Some of them were obviously watching it twice.

  We finished our recording just in time. The boys had set up and tested the satellite interrupters and they were in perfect working order. Our signal would be broadcast from the dish aerial on the roof, going first to the geostationary satellite in orbit high above us. All of the normal programs would then be shorted out while our program was relayed from one satellite to another, finally to be beamed back to the expectant audiences on the planet below. They were in for a different kind of thrill tonight.

  “Three more minutes,” James said, slipping the big cassette of tape into the player. “Aren’t you afraid of losing your audience, Dad? Won’t they turn off their sets when they see that they are getting a political broadcast?” “Not the way we’ve written it. They’ll be glued to their chairs. Watch and see.” Our homely little family scene was being repeated around the globe. The father turning on the set, then sitting down in the best chair with brimming glass or cup. The mother at his side, doing something domestic like knitting booties or fiddling the tax returns. The children at their feet, the servants in their hovels huddling around their battered machines. All the world awaited breathlessly its favorite program. It began.

  And was ruthlessly interrupted just as it got into full sadistic swing. The picture blinked and sputtered and was replaced by a view of Angelina clutching at a microphone. She was wearing the same uniform as those of the regular announcers, while the background was an exact duplicate of the national news studio.

  “I have terrible news to bring to you,” she said in a horror-filled voice. “There has been an assassination. No, not the loathsome Zapilote, that is almost too much to ask. Presidential candidate Sir Hector Harapo will now tell you what has happened. After his brief talk the regular program will be resumed. Sir Harapo.” My bearded image appeared, fist raised for banging down on the table before me.

  “Assassination!” I banged. “Do you know what has been assassinated? I’ll tell you what. Your free choice, guaranteed under our sacred constitution, to elect the presidential candidate you think is best. That choice has been assassinated. By whom, you ask? By that little worm Zapilote who has eaten away the core of our noble republic, that’s who. I have always spoken well of my opponent in this presidential race. I shall do so no longer. I shall name him as the gray-furred, longwhiskered, foul-breathed rat that he is. A rodent gnawing away at the supports of our heroic republic. He flaunts our laws. He tried to prevent me from running for office by secretly closing all nominations-but I out-thought him there. Easy enough to do with a creature that has the IQ of a retarded cockroach. Since his first attempt to stop me was foiled he has tried again. He has moved forward the election date in an attempt to prevent me from meeting you good voters out there, to stop me from telling you of his sins and my abilities. But that shall not be so!” I stopped for breath and recorded cheering echoed loudly. It faded when I raised my hand.

  “You noble voters will have your chance tomorrow. Get out there and vote! Vote for Harapo and de Torres, because every vote for us is a vote for liberty and will bring a bubble of froth to the demented lips of Zapilote the dictator, soon to be deposed. He cannot win! It shall be a landslide for Harapo! Let us sweep the board in order to sweep that loathsome maggot into the dustbin of history! Thank you.” The announcement ended with martial music and snapping flags.

  “I get a feeling you don’t like this guy. Dad,” Bolivar said.

  “You’re going to make him angry. If he has his way you won’t get a single vote,” James added.

  I stood and went over to my discarded doctor outfit and removed the most ornate medal from it. I bade James rise and pinned it to his broad chest and we all cheered.

  “That is an award for clear-eyed vision, my son. You have, as they say, hit the nail squarely on the head.” “Well, thanks, I’ll wear it always. Even in the shower. But would you like to clarify a bit just how you can win by losing massively?” “I’m afraid that must remain a secret between myself and your mother, for at least a little while longer. No word of my plans must be breathed aloud, even within these castle walls. You shall know, first thing after the returns for the voting come tomorrow. If you can figure out by then just what I am up to-why you get another medal,”

  Chapter 28

  Election day began with a bang.

  The explosion blew out a number of windows in the castle and jolted me in an instant from a deep slumber to a painfully wide-awake condition. I stood by the bed, alertly poised on the balls of my feet, my hands extended in the best karate position.

  “Aren’t you cold, just standing there like that?” Angelina asked from the warm depths of the covers.

  “Yes, now that I think about it, I am,” I shivered and dived back in. As I was reaching for her the phone rang and I reached for it instead.

  “Must have been a big one,” Bolivar said, “because the defense screen is set to take out any offensive action when it is five Ks away. Aerial bomb. Big as a house. Computer back-tracked its trajectory then launched a missile at whatever dropped it. The second explosion was too far away to be heard.” “Thanks for the info,” I said, smacking my lips at the sudden bad taste in my mouth. I stood up and wearily pulled on my robe.

  “You didn’t expect him to exactly send you flowers, not after all the awful names you called him, did you?” Angelina said.

  “No. But I didn’t want any more lives lost.” I looked out at the gray of dawn and felt rather gray myself.

  “The new president will stop all the killings forever-that’s the way you have to look at it. Now order up some food. It’s going to be a busy day. “ As indeed it was. After a satisfying but rapid breakfast, followed by a quick check that my beard was firmly in place, I was off to the level meadow behind the castle. All of the cows had been ejected to make room for the tents. The marquez himself was supervising the operation as they were unloaded from the trucks.

  “Good morning. Hector. As you have ordered, the tents are here and are being erected. There is much wonder among the workers-on my part as well-just why we need a carnival at this time. Is it to celebrate t
he election? Do you think we will win?” “All will be explained in a few hours, my dear Marqu6z. But I dare not breathe a syllable now. But you can tell your men that they can make the job easier by not bothering to erect the grandstands.” “Just empty tents?” “That’s it.” .”.

  I left him with a look of befuddled bemusement on his face. I was to see that expression more and more as the day wore on. Though they were all to polite to say so, I had the feeling after a few hours that most of the people on the castle staff thought that I was mad. Crazy as a rat, that’s what! I laughed a quick chuckle-chuckle under my breath, and went on with the preparations for the day.

  The first order of official business was of course registering my own vote. The polling place for the district was in the small town of Tortosa, a few kilometers outside the marquez’s estate. We went there in a convoy of polished cars, election flags flapping in the breeze of our passage. Our arrival was timed for nine in the morning when the polling booth was to be opened. We drove into the central square just as the clock in the town hall was clanging out the hour. A line of prospective voters already stretched across the square. “A good turnout,” de Torres said.

  “A good turnout of ward heelers as well,” I said, pointing.

  There was a large gang of Zapilote’s followers grouped about before the entrance to the hall. They waved drab banners with the official colors, sickly green and mud brown, of Zapilote’s Happy Buzzard party. They had already worked their way down the line, pinning a Happy Buzzard button on each of the waiting voters.

  “We’re on stage,” I said as my followers grouped behind me. My faithful watchdog, Rodriguez, stood close, as did Bolivar and James. All three were unarmed-but very dangerous. I nodded to Angelina who carried the camera and recording apparatus. “This is it. Roll the camera. Action.” With heavy tread we marched across the square to face the local mayor, a toady of Zapilote’s of course, and the chief of police. They looked nervous and fingered their sidearms.

  “The law is being broken here!” I said sternly, pointing an accusing finger at them, keeping my best profile to the camera. “It is forbidden by the constitution to canvass within two hundred meters of the polling place. Eject these men at once!” “I am mayor here!” the mayor here squeaked, “and I take orders from no one. Chief, send these people packing.” The chief of police was unwise enough to reach for his gun. Rodriguez took one step in his direction. There was a whistle of wind as his hand made a quick pass in the air. The chief was suddenly unconscious and lying on the ground. The Happy Buzzards flocked closely together bieating to one another. I walked in their direction, Rodriguez and the twins at my shoulder, and they broke and ran.

  “Remove those disgusting buttons,” I ordered. “You, mayor, get in there and open the voting, for I shall cast the first vote for myself.” As soon as he scrambled into the town hall all of the waiting voters cheered and pulled off their Zapilote buttons. There was a rustle like that of falling leaves as they were all hurled out upon the cobbles of the square. My ward heelers, careful to begin their operations a good two hundred meters from the door, began passing out our buttons, the proud symbol of our party, the Avenging Terrier. On the button was a small white-and-brown dog with large teeth holding a dead rat in his jaws. Said dead rat bearing more than a passing resemblance to Zapilote. Everyone wanted a button, and even those voters near the entrance hurried outside the polling limit to get one before going back to their places in the line.

  “And now,” I announced to the waiting voters-and to the camera, “the voting will begin!” There was a lot of cheering and cries of “Harapo’s the one!” and “The Avenging Terrier will strike!” and this sort of thing as I and de Torres marched into the town hall, followed by our alert bodyguards.

  My name was found in the voting register, I signed in the indicated spot with a flourish-then went forward into the polling booth with all eyes upon me. I reached up and pulled the handle that closed the privacy curtain and actuated the machine. Since this was a oresidential election there were only two levers on the board. One for each party. I reached out and pressed down the Harapo lever. The mechanism whirred, a panel lit up saying VOTE RECORDED, and the curtain opened behind me. I stepped out and made way for the marquez.

  “And how does this apparatus work?” I asked the election official in charge of the registration book. He looked about, not wanting to be seen talking to me, but could not avoid an answer.

  “It is all electronic,” he finally said. “Your vote is recorded in the machine’s memory bank. When voting is over for the day the central computer automatically connects through to this machine, and one by one to every other machine, and reads the memory and enters it into the central memory bank. When all of the voting stations have been reported in, the final vote is counted and displayed.” “How do we know that the central computer won’t cheat? That it hasn’t been programmed to let one side win?” “Impossible!” he said with what appeared to be hearty conviction. “That would be illegal. The man with the most votes will win.” “Well you are looking at him!” I reached out and pumped his reluctant hand. “This is the day when a new broom sweeps clean the foul nest of dictatorship that has locked a slimy metal hand on the bloodstream of the country. Victory!” Cheered on by this masterpiece of mixed metaphor I exited with de Torres to the cries of the happy voters. We reboarded the cars and swept off towards the castle.

  “That’s that,” I announced. “Nothing more to do until the polls close at six. I hope that the chef has prepared a good lunch.” “No more canvassing?” Bolivar asked.

  “No more getting out the loyal voters?” James added. “Unless something is done there is going to be a landslide for Zapilote. “ “How interesting,” I mused, a secret smile on my lips. “I do hope that there will be a fish course. It goes so well with the white wine.” It was indeed a wonderful lunch and I must admit that I dozed a bit after the liqueurs. Politics can be so trying. The sun was low on the horizon when I opened my eyes-to see Angelina silhouetted most attractively before its radiant disc.

  “You’re a vision!” I said. “What time is it?” “Time for you to wake up. I have told the boys everything. They greeted the plan with great joy, and left with the convoy at the appointed time. The polls are just closing now.” “Wonderful,” I said, standing and stretching. “Let us go listen to the results.” The forces of darkness wasted no time. The preliminary results were already coming in when we joined the marqu6z. He was pacing back and forth, shaking his fist at the TV screen as he went.

  “A landslide, that is what they are predicting. That criminal has terrorized the electorate. They are afraid to vote against him.” “I think the answer is really simpler than that. All of his electioneering is just window dressing. He who controls the computer can bring in the final vote any way that he likes. That’s why it would have been a waste of time to do any more campaigning.” “Then we have lost.” “I think perhaps we are going to win. It all depends on how angry Zapilote is. Look-this might be the news that we have been waiting for!” The announcer, a very oily type with a pimp’s moustache, was waving a fistful of computer printouts at the camera, while at the same time he was working up a pseudo-enthusiasm.

  “This is wonderful, absolutely wonderful. A landslide for our dear General-President. A spontaneous outwelling of loyalty from the people he holds so dear. An affirmation of their faith despite the efforts of wreckers and other vermin to undermine this grateful affection that has grown with the years. Wait-just a moment-yes, the final results have just been handed to me, the results that we all have been waiting for.” “You can say that again,” I said, then said it again. The announcer smiled greasily and held up a sheet of paper, then lowered it and read from it.

  “The results just in from the town of Tortosa, in the Central Region. This town is next to the estate of an individual named de Torres, the so-called Marquez de la Rosa. Charges are being pressed against this malignant individual for defamation of character and treason. But me
anwhile his name has remained on the voting machines as a vice-presidential candidate, along with that of a sick deviant called Hector Harapo who is so misguided that he thinks he has a chance of being elected president. But we live in a democracy, ladies and gentlemen, where even the lowest can lust for the highest position. And these two are the lowest, let me tell you. In fact-let me prove it! Figures don’t lie.” He waved the paper again and I muttered “Get on with it, you cretin.” He must have heard me.

  “But let us get on with it, the suspense is almost unbearable. In the town of lortosa, where these thugs voted and used dire threats on the happy villagers to make them vote for them, in what they thought was their very own territorythe results are quite amazing. They are... General-President Zapilote... five thousand, three-hundred and twelve. While the vote for the traitors Harapo and de Torres is...” He extended the silence for long seconds, before screaming into the microphone.

  “Two! They voted for themselves-and no one else, not a single person voted for them. This is loyalty indeed. The landslide marches on and there is no doubt now that our dear President will be re-elected by acclamation...” “The swine!” de Torres shouted as he kicked the TV set to bits. “We saw them vote, we know how they voted! Lies, just lies!” “Of course,” I said. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” I thumbed on the command radio at my elbow and Bolivar’s voice issued from it. “All ready here.” “Then roll it. The results were even better than we expected. “ The marquez crunched a few last TV components under foot and looked at me as though I were mad.

  “We are going to make a broadcast to the world very soon. Just as soon as the convoy returns...” “Convoy?” “Let me explain. You deserve to hear it before everyone else does. We now have Zapilote exactly where we want him. In his greed for revenge he has played right into our hands!”