The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 11

By late afternoon all of the troops were awake and growling for food. My arm was throbbing and felt decidedly uncomfortable. I weighed the relief of dope against a clear head and settled for a clear head. Plans had to be made and a number of alternate courses were already presenting themselves for examination. I shoveled down reconstituted powdered eggs mixed with rehydrated dehydrated bacon, quickly washing the stuff out of sight with caffein condensate. And silently resolved to give more thought to the rations next time we took a trip like this. By the time the plates had been scraped clean my decisions had been made.

"Bolivar, we go to work," I called out magisterially. Was it with some reluctance that he tore himself away from the undisputably charming company of Flavia? Ah youth, youth! "Would you be so kind as to unlimber the large box labeled Top Secret that you will find in the rear compartment."

"Hooray! It's about time we found out what was in there." The others gathered around as he plumped the heavy gray container at my side. I looked at the scratches around the lock. "No patience I see. You've been at the lock."

"Not me," he said. "That was James. The burns along the seam are where I worked on it."

"And you didn't succeed either. Not only are the contents of this container the latest invention of the great Professor Coypu and the Special Corps laboratory, but the container itself is unenterable, the lock unbreakable. But after I show it my thumbprint here, punch in the correct number..." The top of the container slipped aside and they all leaned forward as I reached in and extracted a black metal box. It had a hole in the top and a switch on its side and I held it up for examination.

"Not too impressive," Angelina sniffed.

"All in the eye of the beholder, my love. You will quickly discover that what it can do is next to miraculous. It is a molecular extractor and restorer, or MES as the acronym builders would have it. When you see it in action you will grow weak with awe." I rooted deep in the container and extracted a tiny object. "James, what would you say that this is?" He took it in the palm of his hand, turned it around and around as he squinted at it, then handed it back.

"A very detailed model of a heavy mortar."

"Right, but not exactly right. It is a full-sized mortar that has had ninety-nine percent of its molecules removed. All we must do is replace the missing molecules and it will be restored to its original condition."

"Are you sure you don't want to rest?" Angelina asked. "You might even have a fever from that wound."

"Scoff now and repent at leisure!" I set the MES on the ground, then pulled a cable from its side, which I clipped to the miniature mortar. There was an expanding plastic funnel in the box, which I opened out then plugged into the orifice on top of the machine.

"All that is missing is a source of raw material. Sand, stones, debris of any kind, just dump it into the funnel, boys, and keep it full. That's it; let me know when you are ready. Good—then here we go!" I reached out and flipped the switch on its side and it began to whine petulantly. Nothing else happened. I saw the skeptical looks.

"Patience," I cozened. "It takes a few moments to strip the molecules down to their component particles—ahh there it goes." It was like watching a balloon being pumped full of air, although in this case the mortar was being pumped full of steel. As the level of debris fell in the hopper the mortar began to swell, larger and larger, growing and expanding before our eyes as though we were looking at it through a three-dimensional zoom lens. Within a minute it was fullsize. A bell pinged and the whine of operation died away.

"Any doubters now?" I asked, reaching out and rapping the barrel. It gave out the ring of pure steel.

"This is really great. Dad," Bolivar said, twirling the range adjustments as James squinted through the sight. "It means we can take any kind of heavy equipment with us by squeezing out all the excess mass. Say..."

"I'll bet you've got a number of interesting things already in that box." James finished the sentence for him.

"I do—and we're going to use one right now. Let's just squeeze that mortar down to size first." I flipped the switch in the opposite direction and the mortar began to shrink as the whine built up. A steady stream of dust poured from an orifice on the MES's side.

"Steel molecules," I said. "Ninety-nine out of every hundred being whipped away." When the process was completed I put the miniature mortar away and took out a complex machine that rested lightly in the palm of my hand.

"A tissue regenerator and healer, the kind that they have only in the big hospitals. Twenty-four hours in this machine and my arm will be as good as new. I am sure that we all agree I must be in tip-top shape before we start this election campaign." The boys shoveled the molecular steel back into the hopper and the sturdy medical machine grew before our eyes. When it was life-size again it was but the work of a moment to pull out its power leads and plug them into the atomic generator of the touring car. Angelina carefully removed the bandages from my arm—it really was a mess—and I lay back in the beneficial embrace of the machine. It hummed therapeutically and industriously and I felt better already.

I was almost sorry to leave our bosky dell a day later. The tissues of our spirits, as well as the tissues of my arm, had been restored by our stay here. The weather was perfect, the air clear, the pressures none. Angelina and I talked quietly while she knitted; she was using monomolecular fiber to make a bulletproof vest. The boys paid court to Flavia who basked in the warmth of their attention and forgot for the moment the ordeal that she had been through. But once my arm had healed the old itch for action began to scratch for attention. Angelina knew that the picnic in paradise was over when she saw me oiling up the needle guns.

"Start packing things away, boys," she said. "We'll be leaving soon." After that it was just a matter of steady driving. Flavia's father had been an agricultural inspector and her early years had been spent traveling with him all over the interior. She knew it well. This enabled her to lead us by mountain tracks, along the escarpment and up through the foothills, staying away from farms and towns as much as possible. We passed the occasional smallholding or wood-cutting party, but little else. When we finally dropped down to the central plateau we were already within sight of our goal.

"There," she announced, "the terrain of the Marquez de la Rosa."

"Where?" I asked, gazing out at the horizon-to-horizon expanse of copse and field, hill and forest.

"Everywhere. It's all his. Hundreds of thousands of hectares. The nobility are feudal lords on Paraiso-Aqui, the main reason why Zapilote succeeded in his democratic revolution. While many of hereditary aristocracy are immensely cruel to the peasantry, the marquez is one of the few exceptions. Which is why it is so important to enlist him on our side."

"Consider that done," I told her. "I'm the last of the big-time recruiting sergeants. Bolivar, kindly stop here, before we reach the entrance." Impressive stone tiers stood before us on both sides of the road, the pair of them surmounted with an ornate arch deeply graven with a noble coat of arms. The shield was full of quarterings, an interesting bar sinister which hinted at lusty ancestry, plus plenty of griffins, lions and other heraldic beasts. I dug deep into the refrigerator and took out the ice bucket. It had a false bottom with even more ice concealed beneath.

"For you, my jewel," I said to Angelina, slipping a 400-carat diamond ring onto her finger. She made appreciative gasping noises which accelerated when I passed over the matching necklace. "A few items I have been saving for the right occasion."

"They're gorgeous!"

"Like to like. And a bauble or two for myself to impress our host." Such as a ring with a ruby the size of a bird's egg, with matching ruby-studded band for my hat. The twins clapped appreciatively and Flavia could only stare in shocked silence. I hoped the marquez would be as impressed as well.

"Onward to meet our destiny!" I ordered, and we rolled elegantly through the gates.

The smooth road wound up through green meadows, which gradually gave way to a series of ornate gardens. A last swoop through flower-hung trees opened out into a vista of parkland set with fountains, before a last bend of the road that ended before the house. Or mansion-castle whatever. Most impressive, if a little gaudy. Turrets, pillars, mullions, towers, acres of windows and rows of crenellation. An ornately dressed figure appeared through the open front doors, and stood awaiting our arrival with great dignity.

"The marquez?" I asked, greatly impressed.

"His butler," Flavia said. "Give him your name, and title, if you have one. " Do I have one! A dozen, or more, as many as my fertile imagination can invent. I thought swiftly as James opened the car door, then stalked forth to meet the butler who had descended the stairs to meet me.

"I presume this is the residence of his excellency Gonzales de Torres the Marquez de la'Rosa?"

"It is—"

"Good. I was concerned that I had the address right. One castle looks so much like another. Kindly convey to your master the good tidings that the Duke of diGriz is here with his retinue."

"Thank you, thank you. Follow me if you please." As he ushered us inside he whispered to another flunky who hurried away. We paced through cool corridors, sinking deep into the pile of priceless carpets, to a pair of great wooden doors, which he threw open with a grand gesture while announcing me in a stentorian voice. Head high I swept by.

The marquez came forward, hand extended. A handsome man with just a touch of gray at his noble temples, lithe and strong with an athlete's walk. I took the preferred hand and bowed slightly.

"Welcome, Duke, welcome," he said with some sincerity.

"Jim, if you please, on my world we are most informal."

"Of course, most intelligent. Then you are not of this planet? May I congratulate you on your perfect command of our language. I thought your title was an unfamiliar one."

"Yours however is known across the civilized galaxy. I would not have burst in on you like this had I not been encouraged by one of your relatives who gave me this letter of introduction." I passed over the note from Jorge, which put the final stamp of approval on our visit. Introductions were made all around, including to the marqueza, who made her appearance, her jewelry not half as impressive as Angelina's I was happy to note. When the others cleared out de Torres, as he insisted I call him, and I settled down with a great flask of excellent wine. I got right to the point.

"I assume that you know that your third cousin four times removed is part of the resistance movement?"

"I didn't know it but it gives me great pleasure to hear that Jorge is working against that monster Zapilote, that degenerate piece of offal that..." He waxed on enthusiastically in this vein for some time and I made mental notes of some of the more fascinating insults.

"I gather from that that you don't exactly see eye to eye with the General-President." I sipped at the wine until he ran down a second time. I knew that we had a valuable recruit as I nodded unhappy agreement to his words and made my pitch.

"What you say must be true, for tales of this monster's crimes have even reached my home world of Solysombra, many light-years away. What we find most disturbing is that these crimes are committed in the name of democracy, a system we have come to appreciate. I know, sip some wine, that's it, must think about the blood pressure, the two words are the same. Like you, people of our class had certain suspicions when the ballot box replaced hereditary rule. But in the long run it worked out all to the good. Particularly when those of noble blood and decent education ran for office themselves. And were elected." The marquez lifted one aristocratic eyebrow but was too well-bred to doubt my word aloud.

"It is true, de Torres, if you will think about it. The fact that the aristocracy rules before there are elections does not necessarily mean that it must stop ruling after elections. What it does mean is that the people of character and intelligence have a better chance of being elected than those of no character and pointed heads. I don't know how it is here, but we have some so-called noble gentlemen on my world who aren't fit to clean my pigsty."

He nodded agreement. "We have this problem as well. There are well connected people here whom not only wouldn't I admit to my house, I won't profane the air in this room by speaking their names aloud."

"Then we are of a single mind!" I raised my glass as did he and we downed their contents, and I watched with pleasure as they were refilled. "Therefore I volunteer my experience in politics to aid you and your people. There will be two candidates in the next presidential election—and I shall use my considerable professional knowledge to see that there will be a fair election and that the better man will win."

"Can you do that?"

"Guaranteed."

"Then you are the savior of Paraiso-Aqui."

"Not me. Salvation will be the new president's job."

"And who will that man be?"

"It is obvious. None other than your noble self." He was stunned by the words and sat for long moments with his head lowered. When he finally raised his eyes to mine they were filled with sorrow.

"That cannot be," he said "It must be another. I regret that I cannot be president."