The Stainless Steel Rat for President

Chapter 25

I reluctantly spent a rather painful evening, since the effects of the neocain had to wear off before the doctor could treat my bruises and contusions. And broken ribs. Three of them had been fractured by the Colonel, and I sat there and cursed and thought evil thoughts about him while the medic shot bone rejuvenator into the rib marrow, then bound me up. When he was finally finished, a small shot of neocain and a large ron kicked me off to dreamland for some well-deserved rest.

Angelina let me sleep late the next morning, and did not look in until I was taking my second cup of coffee from the bedside dispenser.

"And how are we feeling today?" she asked cheerily.

"I don't know how we are feeling but I are feeling like I have been drawn through a knothole."

"Poor dear," she said, brushing my tousled hair and kissing me lightly on the forehead. "The boys have prepared a surprise that should take your mind off your troubles." Even as she said this the door opened and James entered carrying a projection TV set. Bolivar was right behind him with the screen. I scowled with instant distrust.

"I hate the box," I animositied. "Particularly moronic morning cretin fodder." Angelina patted my head soothingly.

"There, there, mustn't get irritated. It is not morning TV because it is no longer morning but early afternoon. The traditional time on this planet for the big midday meal. Which is also traditionally followed by the news broadcast watched by almost everyone as they relax, comatose, fingers laced over distended stomach."

"My fingers are clutched to my starving stomach. And I hate news broadcasts."

"Here comes the maid with your nine-course breakfast," Bolivar said, stepping aside so the laden table could pass.

"And this is no normal broadcast either. After the trap that was laid for us outside of the Broadcasting Center we can be pretty sure that we were backtracked. Which means that the dummy interrupters were surely found. But James ran a circuit check last night and the real interrupters are still in place. It took us most of the night to get the tape ready—but we think that you will really enjoy the news today."

"I will, I will," I enthused through a mouth full of food. "And I take back all of my earlier, surlier suggestions. I should have known. Angelina my love, sit beside me and help yourself to a chop and we will enjoy the show together."

The program that preceded the news was just ending as I ended my meal. It was a romantic opera of the kind that mental cripples are said to enjoy, with all kinds of fat people singing into each others faces, clumsy stabbings with collapsible swords followed by hearty songs from the death bed. Happily it ended just as I was reaching for something to throw at the set. A series of repulsive commercials followed, of which only the ron advertisement was bearable, all dewy glasses and clinking ice cubes. But even the most dreadful commercial must come to its sodden end. An off-key fanfare heralded the news and a smart-looking girl swam into focus.

"Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. This is the afternoon news that is brought to you every day at this time. We have been getting reports from the capital that General-President Zapilote is feeling much better after the mild attack of food poisoning he suffered yesterday. Dear General-President, all of us here, and I know all of you out there, join in wishing you the speedy of speediest of speedy recoveries…" At this point James pressed the button on the radio-control box he was carrying. The screen shimmered for a second and the girl was replaced by a photograph of me, complete with beard, waving enthusiastically and flashing pearly teeth. The marquez stood at my shoulder. A woman's voice continued the narration—but not that of the previous speaker. I recognized Angelina's voice in an instant and gave her hand a squeeze.

"But let us not dwell on the psychosomatic illnesses of this sordid little dictator, let us instead meet the noble man who will be our next president. I refer to none other than Sir Hector Harapo, shown here with the vice-president to be, the Marquez de la Rosa. These handsome and noble gentlemen have just held their first election rally in Puerto Azul. It was an enormous success despite the attempts of Zapilote's corrupt police force to prevent it. The first attempt occurred…"

It was a snappy production and I enjoyed every moment of it. All the film had been edited to show the opposition in the worst possible light, while our team were unto gods. I clapped enthusiastically when it came to the end.

"Well done! My congratulations to you all. And I would pay a thousand credits to see the expression on that poxy dictator's face at this very moment! But enough. Having finished the first part of the campaign we must look forward to the final stages. We have three months until election day and every moment must be taken up with bringing our message to the people."

"Without any of us getting shot or blown up," Angelina said firmly.

"I could not agree more. But our message must be carried by the news media, and I would welcome suggestions on how that will be done. We can assume that our little TV tap is now being tracked down and destroyed. Once they find out what we have done our chances of fixing any other interrupters into their circuitry are less than zero. But we must have access to the news media or we have lost the election in advance. Any suggestions?"

"The answer seems fairly obvious," Angelina said. "You must interrupt the broadcasting circuitry at the most vulnerable point, which is at the same time the most inaccessible point. If you understand what I mean."

"I don't understand," I admitted unhappily. "I must have been hit on the head once too often yesterday."

"Mom's right!" James said; he had not been hit on the head at all, so was therefore far ahead of me and Bolivar who was also blinking in a concussed manner. "We put the interrupters into the satellites themselves!"

Yes, the answer was hideously obvious and I should have guessed; I pouted unnoticed in the corner as James rattled on enthusiastically.

"The next step then must be a major effort to find out more about the satellites…"

"Already done," Angelina said brightly. "There is a company named Radiodifundir SA that is located at the spaceport near Puerto Azul. They service the communication and weather satellites for the government. They are a small company, so small that all of their work is done by a single and ancient spacetug that has been modified for satellite work." Warm smiles greeted this bit of information, and we all beamed enthusiastically at one another. Being of the same mind and possessed by the same idea. I expressed the thought that was on all our lips.

"It couldn't be that this is the only ship on this planet that can do this kind of work?"

"Not only could it be—it certainly is! If this ship, the Populacho, was out of action it would be some months at least before another could be found, modified and brought here."

I rubbed my hands together in anticipation. "The next step is painfully clear. Relay units must be constructed, designed for installation on each satellite. They must be self-powered and will operate when they receive our coded signal. In that manner we can give all the listeners and viewers an unbiased view of the news every day. The ship, the Populacho, must be pressed into our service to enable us to install the devices. After which it must be rendered, shall we say, 'unfit' for awhile. At least until the election is over. Can anyone fault this plan?"

"I can't," Angelina said. "But I have one additional suggestion. We are fighting this election in the name of democracy so we must begin acting by the democratic rules we profess to believe in. We must not repeat what we did tonight, cancelling their news program and substituting our own. Democracy means free speech. We must allow them to broadcast, then follow with our own news. The public must be given a choice. People must be allowed to make their own minds up."

"Is that wise?" I asked. "Can they be trusted?"

"Yes, it is wise, my dear husband, though you might not think so. Your personal beliefs fall somewhere between fascism and anarchy. Of the two I favor the anarchy. But given a wider choice I would settle for democracy. All in favor?" The boys raised their hands and I scowled.

"The ayes have it. We will now plan to commit a crime in the name of the greater good of democracy."

"Who's the fascist-anarchist now?" I growled.

"Not us," Angelina smiled in sweet answer. "We're just pragmatists. Our hearts are pure and our motives of the best. And the results of our actions will be for the greater good of all."

"Say that to the owners of the Populacho," I snarled, "when they find their spaceship at the bottom of a smoking crater."

But she was unflappable. "They will get recompense from their insurers and buy a new and better ship. Isn't that what you always say?"

There was of course no answer to that other than to bite savagely into a piece of toast. But even as I chewed I smiled. "You are a fine crew and I cannot argue with you. Now let us extremely honest, democratic republicans, staunch upholders of law and order, begin planning our crime of spaceship rustling.