The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 21

"Not a mention of any kind!" Angelina famed. "Nothing in the evening papers, nothing on television—not a single word on the radio. There is a complete news blackout."

"Of course," I said, nodding sagely as I brushed bits of dinner from my beard. "We expected nothing less. Did you have any doubts at all that the press was compromised? But doubts are one thing, proof another. And now we can prove it. We'll see if we can make tomorrow's news just a mite more interesting. But for the moment we must think about the rally. How is it going?"

"The stadium has been filled to overflowing for the last hour and we are running out of bean sandwiches. Viewing screens and loudspeakers have been set up all around the stadium for those who couldn't get in."

"Any tourists in the crowd?"

"A lot of them. They seem to think that the whole thing is a lot of fun."

"It would be a lot less fun if they weren't there. Zapilote must be getting desperate by now. I doubt if he will do anything drastic during the rally with the tourists present. But afterwards…"

"You watch your step."

"My love, I have every intention of doing just that. Shall we go?" We went. With all the defensive screens of the votemobile full on. And other precautions as well. We remained inside the garage until a spotter in the hotel above gave us the go-ahead signal. As soon as this arrived the car gunned out into the street-to slip into the gap between two tourist buses. The offworlders were still my best insurance. When we left the highway at the stadium we picked up an escort of pink outrider cars and continued in convoy as we worked our way through the crowds. There was something new outside the entrance. A flexiglass tent with a dozen or more disgruntled-looking men inside it. A jeering crowd surrounded them and pelted the tent with empty wine bottles and stale bean sandwiches.

"And the significance of this?" I asked James, who came forward to greet us.

"We had an empty stadium to start with because there was this gang of police spies stationed just outside the entrance. They were taking pictures of everyone coming to the rally, which meant a decided drop in public interest. This was cutting down on the attendance as you can well imagine. Bolivar and I convinced them that they should give us the cameras and then get into that tent."

"Don't tell me how you did it-I'm a man of peace. Was this the only hitch?"

"The only one. Are you ready for your grand entrance, Dad? I mean Sir Harapo."

"Never felt more ready. And you, Marquez?"

"The same. This meeting will go down in history. Proceed!" I did. Down the aisle through the cheering crowd, shaking my hands over my head, smiling for the tourists' cameras, blowing kisses at the babies—but not the babes, for I knew Angelina's steely gaze was upon me. Climbing to the platform and waiting for the shouting to die away. There was a splendid fanfare of recorded trumpets and the marquez stepped forward.

"I am the Marquez de la Rosa, as everyone knows. It is my pleasure to run for vice-president of this world, under the leadership of my kinsman. Sir Hector Harapo, Knight of the Beeday, gentleman botanist and full-time recluse. Who has left the quiet of his laboratory and gardens to come to the aid of his planet. Without further ado, let me introduce to you the next President of Paraiso-Aqui … Sir Hector!" Screams, whistles, yells, you know the sort of thing. I waved until my arms were tired, then gave the signal for the fanfare again, while at the same time I pressed the floor button with my toe that sent a quick shot of subsonics through the floor of the stadium. This sound could not be heard, but it would produce a depressant effect on everyone present. The crowd was instantly silent, and I saw tears in more than one eye. Must remember to turn down the subsonic volume. I spoke into the waiting silence.

"Men and women voters, welcome visitors from other worlds, I bring you news of great joy. " I turned off the depressants and toed in the stimulants. The crowd began to smile with great joy even before they heard the news. "Within a few weeks we are going to have an election. At that time you will have a chance to vote for me for president. And why should you vote for me you might ask? Well I'll give you one very important reason. I'm not Julio Zapilote, that's why!" That produced a good deal of enthusiastic reaction and I took the opportunity to pour out some water-flavored gin from the carafe before me. I took a few good swallows before I carried on.

"Vote for me and end corruption in high places. Vote for me and I'll have the Ultimados working as swimming instructors on a shark farm. Vote for me and see what honest government can really be like. I promise an ox in every pot, a gallon of wine in the cupboard, an abolition of all taxes, six weeks annual holiday with pay, a thirty-hour work week, retirement with full pay at the age of fifty for every registered member of the Nobles and Peasants and Workers Party—volunteers will pass among you handing out membership forms—free bull fights every Sunday, off-track betting by licensed bookmakers, plus a few other things that I will think of soon…" My last words were drowned out by enthusiastic cheering that had no need of subsonics. If the voting were held at this moment—and the machines not rigged—I would have received every vote. I sat down, still waving, then sipped at my restorative glass.

"Didn't you promise a few things you can't deliver?" Angelina asked. I nodded.

"No one believes election promises, particularly the politicians who make them. The purpose of the talk and this rally is just to stir up enthusiasm."

"Well you certainly have done that."

"Good. A few more speeches and we call it a day. Because we have a busy night's work ahead of us."

And busy indeed it was. The rally finally ended, we fought our way through the enthusiastic crowds to the cars, then moved out onto the highway with the other traffic. The return trip was happily uneventful and no sooner had we entered the hotel suite than the action began.

"Are you ready boys?" I asked, tearing out great handfuls of beard in my enthusiasm to get into action.

"We are!" they chorused.

"Then report. " I slipped out of my formal clothes and into my fighting gear. Bolivar read from his notes.

"All major news items are issued by the Ministry of Information to the various media. Resident censors monitor the final copy at each newspaper and at the Broadcasting Center. Pre-recorded news goes from there to the satellites for rebroadcast on radio and television."

"How many satellites are there?"

"Eighteen of them, in geostationary orbits. They blanket the planet. Their signals are either received by personal dish antennas or communal piped systems."

"That's the news I have been waiting to hear," I chortled as I zipped up my soft-soled shoes. "We will just have to forget the newspapers for the moment. It would be too much trouble to sabotage each and every one of them. In any case. I'm sure the broadcast media are the most popular. And vulnerable. What we need next are floorplans of the Broadcasting Center and a diagram of their technical setup." Bolivar handed me the first, James the second. It was almost too much. I coughed away what might have been a sob and hoped they didn't notice the glisten in the old stainless steel rat's eyes. What fine lads they were, how intelligent in the application of their benevolent crockery!

"We've compared one to the other," Bolivar said, flipping through the floorplans, then stabbing down his finger.

"And are pretty sure that we have found the weak spot," James said, finishing the sentence, a finger firmly planted on his diagram. I bent to look as they traced their way through the details.

"These are the microwave transmitters that shoot the signals around the planet for rebroadcast to the satellites that are out of line of sight."

"And here are the two channels coming out of the program section, radio here—TV here…"

"They go through these cables located in this conduit-which just happens to have an access door in the basement of the building…"

"Here!" I added, stabbing down a finger and we all smiled and nodded like fools. "But this will need a sophisticated circuit interrupter that will be small and hard to spot, yet will still enable us to cut off their signals and substitute our own whenever we wish. Now where could we possibly find devices like that…" James took one from his pocket. Bolivar took out the other.

"Boys, I'm proud of you," I said, and I meant every word of it. The interrupters were flat cannisters, each small enough to fit on the palm of my hand, with a switch and a bundle of thin wires at one end.

"Self-powered," Bolivar said. "Atomic batteries. Run for years. This lead goes to an outside aerial, while these are spliced into the interior circuits. That's all there is to it. When the correct signal is received the material that Zapilote's technicians are sending out is cut off and whatever signal we are broadcasting will go out in its place. They will think that they are sending out their news reports—but instead they will be broadcasting ours."

"That's good," I said. "But only for a one shot. Once their broadcasts have been sabotaged they will shut down and search until they find these. We will have to go though the whole thing again when we make a second broadcast on election eve. And it will be much harder to set this thing up a second time." James opened a box while I talked and took out two good-sized hunks of electronic apparatus.

"We thought you might have that possibility in mind. So we put these together. They're dummies, full of circuit boards and wiring, that we attach in a slightly more obvious location. They have only one function. If they are disturbed or examined in any way, a thermite device inside is actuated that will then burn them to slag."

"A neat bit of misdirection that will certainly work. Now let's get out there and do the job so we can sleep peacefully tonight."

"Dad, Bolivar and I can take care of this ourselves. You must be tired…"

"I am. Of being a politician. You wouldn't deprive me of a chance for a little excitement, would you?"

"They would if I could have my way," Angelina said, speaking for the first time. "But I know you too well. So get out there with your delinquent children and crawl around in the sewers or whatever it is you enjoy doing. But don't expect me to wait up for you."

I kissed her firmly for her understanding and we exited into the night. By way of the back stairs and an unmarked car. Nor were we followed. We parked a street away from Broadcasting Center, then made our way into it. I mean we didn't exactly go through the front door, but we did penetrate without too much trouble from the alarm system. We shorted it out and entered unseen through a basement window. After that it was just a matter of finding the right doorway. The sub-basements were filled with fully automated machinery and empty at this time of night. There was one supervisor at his station, but he was easily avoided. The hookup was a simple one, with the dummy circuit boxes concealed by a partition, while the real bits of circuitry were put under the wire bundle and sealed into the flooring.

"Perfect," I said, dusting off my hands and admiring the result of our labors. "Let us now return for a refreshing drink and a look at the substitute programs that our minions are now preparing." Getting out unseen was just as easily accomplished as had been our entrance. Our car was waiting and there was no one in sight.

I opened the car door and the light came on.

There was a man sitting there, pointing a large pistol at my head and smiling at the same time. Someone very disgustingly familiar.

"So you are Hector Harapo now, and no longer a simple offworld tourist," Captain Oliveira said, "I warned you at our last meeting not to return to this planet. Now that you have been so rash as to come back you can only blame yourself for the consequences."