Even I, hardened by a thousand battles and even more close calls, had to admit that I experienced a sudden stab of the old angst when I watched the Corps battle cruiser lift up silently into the night. It is one thing to sit in your own home, glass in hand, and brag about how great you are. It is quite another thing altogether to be dumped on an inhospitable planet with all your loved ones and every man's hand turned against you. Were we doomed? If so I was responsible. "Well Dad . . ." Bolivar said.
  ". . . the fun's about to begin!" James added, finishing his twin's sentence for him. They laughed together and slapped

me on the back, which staggered me a bit and also dragged me out of my fit of depression. We could do it! We would do it!
"You're absolutely right, boys. Here we go!" James opened the rear door of the touring car for his mother, while Bolivar, decked out in chauffeur's uniform, climbed into the front seat and started the engine. It was a cloudless night and the starlight was bright enough for us to

see our way. I joined Angelina while James climbed into the front seat beside his brother. He wore the white suit and black string tie of a minor functionary. While Angelina and I

were dressed in the finery of the wealthy, copied faithfully from photographs taken from the guide books. Bolivar put on dark glasses, kicked the car into gear, and we shot off into the darkness.
  Of course his glasses were sensitive to ultraviolet. And the headlights, while apparently turned off, were nevertheless radiating great beams of ultraviolet light. It was disconcerting, yet strangely exciting, to hurtle through the night like this.
  "The ground here is hard stone all the way. Dad," Bolivar said. "Just the way you planned. We'll leave no tracks, just in

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             The Stainless Steel Rat for President         35

case the authorities saw the ship land and come to investigate. And the road is right ahead. Empty. Hold on, it's going to be bumpy going across the shoulder. "
  We slithered and joggled our way up onto the road, which turned out to be smooth and well-paved. The car picked up speed as it hurtled along in darkness through the night.
  "Turn on the lights after we get around the next bend," I said. "We will then become legitimate citizenry out for a spin." "How far do you want us to spin?" he asked.
  "As far as the coast. If we get there early we'll rest a bit, then go on after dawn. I don't want to reach the resort until after daylight. Once there we'll find some place for breakfast before we proceed with the next step of the plan." We had the road to ourselves for the most part. An occasional car passed in the opposite direction, but there were no signs of any alarm. I took a bottle of champagne from the cooler and Angelina and I drank a toast to success. I then switched the television on to a recorded symphony and we zoomed on through the night, if not in the lap of luxury at least in the car of content. By maintaining a stately and steady speed we reached the coast just as day was breaking, then turned onto the road to the resort. They were early risers here and already the peasantry were on their way to the fields. They drew aside at our approach, bowing and saluting, which attentions we ignored in the proper manner. Warm sunlight sparkled on the water as we drove majestically along the waterfront.
  "There," Angelina said. "The outdoor restaurant right on the shore. The waiters are setting the tables. It looks perfect." "As indeed it is. Bolivar, let us off there, park the car where we can keep an eye on it, then take a table at an appropriate distance."
  There is nothing like being rich in a place where everyone else is poor. It helps the service no end. Our arrival was noted and the restaurant manager himself hurried out, "Welcome, welcome Your Honor and Lady!" he said, opening the car door himself. "A table, yes, this one, at your service. Your slightest wish is my command."
  "A light for my cigar," I sneered, taking a long black cheroot from my case. Three waiters fought for the privilege of lighting it; tiny flames flared. I puffed smoke, dropped into

36          The Stainless Steel Rat for President

a chair, and pushed my wide-brimmed hat back on my head. Angelina sat down demurely opposite me. "This is the life," I sighed.
  "You're a born fascist," Angelina said under her breath. "We are here to save these people from being trampled under, not to glory in the trampling ourselves." "I know. But that doesn't mean we can't enjoy ourselves before the trampling has to stop. Just because we're on a sinking ship it doesn't mean we have to travel in steerage. First class all the way! And about time too," I added, taking the menu from the trembling waiter.
  Some while later, stomach happily full, I was enjoying a cigar with my third cup of Jich black coffee, looking out casually at the passing parade. Then I dropped my cigar onto the ground and snapped my fingers in James's direction. As he came hurrying over, radiating fearful employee in a satisfactory manner, I took out a fresh cheroot.
  "Light this!" I ordered, then spoke in a quieter voice when he bent over. "When you turn around take a look at the man in the green shirt talking to the three fat tourists. Our luck is holding because that is Jorge, our contact. Follow him. Find out where he goes." "No trouble. Papa. He'll never know he's being tailed. " As he turned away, Angelina leaned close and said, "Dear

one, if you now will glance to your right you will see that trouble is on the way."
 I glanced—and indeed it was on the way. Two sordid types, dressed in plain clothes but radiating authority, had stopped to talk to the young couple sitting at the first table. The diners produced papers which the thugs looked through carefully. They were obviously checking for identification. Which posed an interesting problem for us since we didn't have any.
  "Angelina," I said as I snapped my fingers for the waiter, "you are most observant. Get Bolivar and go to the car while I pay up here. Pick me up at the curb."
 The waiters were fast but the police thugs were even faster. They went by the next two tables, obviously occupied by off-planet tourists, and approached me just as I was throwing handfuls of money onto the bill.
  "If you please, your honor, you have identification papers?" the smaller and slimmer one said.

           The Stainless Steel Rat for President          37

  I looked him up and down in slow and arrogant silence, waiting until he broke into a cold sweat before I spoke.
  "Of course I have identification papers." I turned away and stepped to the curb as the touring car rolled ponderously up. It might have worked. It didn't this time. His voice quavered tremulously behind me.
  "Would you be so kind as to show them to me, if you please."
  The car was close—but not close enough. I turned back and fixed him with a basilisk gaze. "What is your name?" I growled.
"Viladelmas Pujol, your eminence . . ."
  "I'll say this just once, Pujol. I do not talk to policemen on the street. Nor do I show them papers. Leave me." He turned away instantly, but his large partner was made of sterner—or stupider—stuff.
 "We will be pleased to accompany you to the Commissioner of Police, your excellency. He will be most happy to welcome you to our city."
  It was time to think fast. This repulsive little scene had been going on for far too long and would draw attention soon. There was no point in attempting to flee in the car; they could see its registration number and could identity us. So I thought fast and, within a split second, devised a highly satisfactory plan just as the car pulled up and stopped beside

us.
  "How very kind of you to offer." I smiled and they relaxed and smiled as well, with some relief. "As a stranger here I do not know my way. So you will accompany me in my luxurious vehicle and instruct my driver." "Thank you! Thank you!"
  It was all smiles and good will as we climbed in; I'm sure they would have kissed my hand had I but extended it. Bolivar pressed the proper button and the jump seats dropped down into position. They dropped their {at rumps gingerly onto the hand-tooled leather, facing us, as the car started forward smoothly.
  "Kindly instruct my driver," I said, then turned to Angelina. "These kind policemen are escorting us to meet their Commissioner who wishes to greet us." "Charming," she said, lifting one eyebrow delicately.
  "Straight ahead, then right at the third turning," Pujol coirl

38         The Stainless Steel Rat for President

  "All friends together," I said, smiling at them and they beamed back with pleasure. "Or as the great poet wrote, 'Kiom me kalkulos al tri, vi endormigos vian malbonulon kaj mi endormigos mwn.' " Which as any first year Esperanto student knows means "When I count to three, you put your thug to sleep and I'll take care of mine." "I'm not much on poetry, excellency," Pujol said.
  "Then I'll teach you some right now. It's as easy as one, two, three . . ."
  I leaned over and took Pujol by the throat and squeezed hard. He bulged his eyes, gaped, thrashed a bit, then collapsed. Angelina, who dislikes police of any kind, had been

more dramatic. She had extended one shapely leg and kicked the big one in the stomach. When he had folded forward, a quick chop to the exposed nape of his neck had dropped him at her feet.
  "Neatly done. Morn and Dad," Bolivar said, looking in the rearview mirror. "Not a soul in the street noticed. And I've just gone by the third turning."
  "Very good. Just drive on along the coast while we figure out what to do with them."
  "Cut their throats, wire boulders to their ankles, dump them into the sea," Angelina said, smiling cheerfully.
  "No, darling," I said, patting her graceful hand, "you are reformed, remember? No more maiming or slaughter . . ." "That doesn't apply to the police!"
  "Yes, dearest, to the police as well." She sat back in her corner muttering darkly, while I explained what I had in mind. "When I spoke of figuring out what to do with them, I simply meant where we would leave them after they have each been given a shot of amnesial. A drug which, as you undoubtedly know, wipes out all memory of events that took place up to twenty hours before the injection." "Strychnine works faster." "It does, my pet, but it is far more permanent." "Look, Dad, there's a side road ahead," Bolivar said. "It

appears to lead up towards the jungle." "Perfect. Go that way while I give them the shots." Since mayhem had been ruled out, Angelina would have nothing to do with the arrangements. I slipped out the medkit and took care of everything myself. Bolivar found an unpaved farm track leading off among the trees and backed into it. We slipped the sleeping simpletons under some thick bushes and

             The Stainless Steel Rat for President         39

left, driving back along the same route. James was waiting near the restaurant and climbed into the front seat. "Been joyriding?" he asked.
  "Getting rid of some nosy cops," I told him. "What happened to Jorge?"
  "I followed him to a bar and was drinking nearby when he told his friends how he had been up all night at a tourist party and was now going to go to bed. " "Where he is now—and you know where it is?" "Right the first time. Dad. And I imagine you would like to disturb his beauty sleep. I'll show you the way." I went in alone, picking the front door lock with a single dextrous twitch of my fingers. I've done this sort of thing so often before that I had to stifle a yawn. You're a real pro, Jim, I told myself as I tiptoed in silence across the darkened room. Pride goeth before a fall. Jorge either had ears like a cat, was

an incredibly light sleeper—or there was a silent alarm attached to the front door. But whatever it was didn't matter. The result did.
  The lights came on just as I was halfway across the room. Jorge stood in the doorway to the bedroom aiming a large and nasty-looking pistol at me.
  "Say a farewell prayer, spy," he said coldly. "For I am Ihnll, tf\ Llll i/rni