The Stainless Steel Rat for President

"How to Win Elections," I read. "Subtitled, Or How to 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 General-President 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 oresidential 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 Zapilote off-balance and keep him that way. We will begin with an election irally." "And just what is that?" de Torres asked.