Afterword

  There might possibly be someone, someplace in one of the

more backward parts of this planet, who might not know me. My name is Ricard Gonzales de Torres y Alvarez, Marquez de la Rosa. I have been asked by the official historians of Paraiso-Aqui to record the events of that black day. Though I am no writer by trade, I consider it a repulsive and degenerate occupation for a grown man, I nevertheless agreed, since I am the person obviously best suited to the task. The men of the de Torres family have never shirked their responsibilities,

no matter how onerous they might be. Therefore I begin at the beginning, where I am told all stories should begin.
  I was sitting just behind that wonderful man, that paragon of all virtue, the noble Sir Hector Harapo, Knight of the Beeday, gentleman, scientist and loving father. I can not praise him too highly. But I digress. I was sitting next to him when he spoke to the audience, to the world—the entire galaxy—at that moment of our greatest joy. That repellent slug Zapilote had been defeated in an honest and democratic election. Hector was President and I the Vice-president-elect. The world was going to be a better place.
  Then the shot was fired. It came from high in the building, from one of the small windows at the rear I believe, used by technicians or things like that. I saw this dear man's body quiver with the impact. Then fall. I was at his side in an instant and the light of life was still in his eyes. But it was growing dimmer. I bent over him and seized his hand and could barely feel the feeble grasp that he returned.
  "My friend . . ." he said, then coughed and his lips turned carmine with his very life's blood. "My dear friend . . . I am going now. It is up to you . . . to carry on . , . our work. Be strong. Promise me . . . that you will build the world we both wanted . . . " "I promise, I promise," I said, my voice hoarse with emo-

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tion. His saintly eyes were closed, but he must have heard me for his dying hand gave one last tremor as it tightened on mine. An instant later it went limp.
  Then his loyal wife was pushing me aside, seizing him up with a strength I did not know she possessed, then others rushed to her aid.
  "It cannot be!" she cried, and my heart went out to her in her moment of pain. "It cannot be—he cannot be dead— doctors, ambulance! He must be saved!"
  They hurried him off and I did not stop them. She would know soon enough. I dropped into my seat and looked down in despair, then saw for the first time his noble blood upon my hand. Reverently I took my handkerchief from my breast pocket and pressed it to the red droplets, soaking them up, then carefully refolding the linen to preserve them forever.
  And that I have done. The handkerchief is before me now, under a glass dome filled with a neutral gas that will preserve its fabric intact for eternity. It stands beside the case holding the crown jewels, discovered in Zapilote's private chamber where that creature used to fondle them for some perverse

reason.
  You all know the rest. Thousands of you were at his funeral.  Nor is he forgotten.  His simple grave is still visited by multitudes every day.
 You know about his enemies as well, for that story has been writ most often. How the crowd surged to their feet and cried "Death to the Despot" and were about to throw themselves upon that monster Zapilote and tear the flesh from his body with their fingers. How he quailed before their wrath and how he looked upon death and was possessed by fear.
  It was then, at that very moment, that Harapo's noble wife returned and stood before the quailing creature and raised her hand and the crowd was silent and she did address them.
  "Hear me, oh people of Paraiso-Aqui, hear me. My dear husband is dead. It is over. But do not throw away the world that he died to give you. Abide by the rule of law, even when dealing with pieces of filth like the wicked Zapilote. Condemn him for his crimes but do not kill him. My husband did not believe in murder—so do not commit it in his name. I thank you."
  I am not so proud that I would deny that there were tears in my eyes when she spoke. There was not a dry eye in that immense hall. For even Zapilote was weeping with relief.

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  His widow left Paraiso-Aqui the very next day, for his memory was everywhere here. I saw her walk into the spaceship, turn and wave once, then go on. Behind her were the two brave young men, James and Bolivar. She left all of her possessions behind. There were just the few bags that the steward carried into the ship behind her. The spacelock swung shut and I have never seen her since.
  The rest is history. Though I had no wish to serve in the high office of President I could not refuse that good man's dying wish. I have labored for you to the best of my abilities, and the majority have declared that I have served you well. I

am satisfied. The scoundrels who terrified this world are no longer with us. They were condemned at public trial and found guilty. Our appeal to the Interstellar League of Justice

was answered and you all know how they were removed to the prison planet of Calabozo. Every corrupt judge and policeman went. Every last one of the Ultimados who terrified this planet for two centuries. All gone. We have been purified. And they are all alive and, if not well, at least surviving. For it is a matter of record that there are no warders on Calabozo, just a few robots. The planet is wild and has a severe climate. All of the prisoners there must grow their own food and fend for themselves for the rest of their natural lives. They are their own destinies. They cannot escape. It is a well-deserved fate for that scurrilous crew.
  My story must end at this point. As your president it was a far, far better thing that I did than I have ever done; it is a far, far better world we have here than we have ever known. We have Him to thank for that. He will live in our memories forever. Thank you, dear friend, and good-bye.

Still Another Afterword

  As the saying goes, it's hard to really kill a stainless steel rat. But it's easy enough to tire one out. I don't know what souvenirs Angelina had put into the suitcases, bars of gold perhaps, but they were slowly tearing my arms out at the sockets. I staggered up the ramp behind her and the boys and on into the security of the spaceship. It wasn't until the airlock closed behind us that I felt free to drop them and straighten up.
  "James," I said, "or Bolivar. Would either of you like to help your aging father by carrying these bags the rest of the way?"
  I pressed my fist against my aching back and my spine crackled nicely. What a relief. Then I saw two passengers turning my way and I grabbed up the bags again just as Bolivar was reaching for them.
  "No young sir, not your job to carry bags, not on this ship. Old Jim will carry them. This way madam, kind young gentlemen, I'll show you to your suite of cabins." I tottered off with my family following close behind. Only when the cabin door had closed behind me did I drop the awful bags and groan with relief.
  "You poor dear," Angelina said, patting my hand then leading me to the chair. "Now just sit there for a bit while I

see if I can find something that might cheer you up," I peeled off the gray moustache and eyebrows and buried the gray wig from me while she bent to open the suitcase. The lid flipped back to reveal row after row of dark bottles nestled into a soft protective bed. Angelina took one out and held its dusty form up to the light.
  "Hundred-year-old ron. Lots of it. A little souvenir of Paraiso-Aqui that I thought you might enjoy. Let me pour

you a drop to see if it was bruised in travel." "Light of my life!" I gushed with sincere admiration. "You

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are too kind." It was pure paradise as it trickled down my throat. She smiled and nodded approval.
  "It was the least I could do for you after you had been assassinated. "
  "It did go well, didn't it? That was a good shot, James. Hit right square in the center of the bag of blood which squirted nicely. Though I wish you had used a cartridge with a smaller charge. It hit the armor plating with enough force to knock

me over backwards."
  "Sorry about that. But I measured the distance, two hundred and nine meters. I needed a flat trajectory to hit precisely at that distance. Your medals made a neat target. " "It ended well, that's what counts. " I sipped and smacked. "You had no trouble getting away?" This was the first time we had been able to talk since I had been killed.
  "It went smoothly. Bolivar was running up the stairs an instant after the shot was fired. I left the gun where it was and joined him. Then we led the pack in a chase after the killer.  It was never a problem.  Even better,  your friend, Colonel Oliveira, joined in the chase. We managed to sidetrack him into an empty alley." "The dear colonel!" I cried. "You gave him my best regards?" "We did. The robots on the prison planet have been programmed to take his casts off in about a month." "Better and better. I watched the news when I was passing

as a tourist at the beach hotel. Everything seemed to go quite smoothly. Even the funeral. Very realistic. You would almost think that there was a real body buried in my grave." "There is," Angelina said, suddenly very serious. "We have

some good news and some bad news. The bad news is that one of our party workers named Adolfo was killed. He was our best operative in Primoroso, a card shark who helped rig a number of ballot boxes. He was shot by the Ultimados. They brought him to the hospital while you were there. He died a few minutes later. They couldn't find his friends, so we made the most of the opportunity. "
  "Poor Adolfo. He really wasn't a very good card player. May he rest in peace." I sighed and drank a silent toast to his memory. "And the good news?"
  The twins looked glum as she told me. "Jorge and Flavia have been married. They were engaged for years but swore not to wed until their homeworld was free."

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  "How romantic. Sorry boys. But there are other girls in the galaxy. Now please tell me, what about the real Sir Hector?" "We followed your instructions," Bolivar said. "Pumped him full of Zapilote's expensive geriatric drugs, shaved off his beard and gave him a face lift. He looks thirty years younger and can easily pass for his own son. Right now he is back at work on his research—taking up his 'father's' work where the old man left off. He still is not quite sure what happened to him, but the faithful family retainers are taking care of him." "Well, if I must say so myself, that was a very neat operation. All of the ends tied up, the bad guys knocked out, the good marqu6z running the whole show, peace and prosperity

now the rule on Paraiso-Aqu*. A little episode in the battle against injustice and boredom that we all can be proud of."
  "I'll drink to that," Angelina said, popping the cork from a bottle. "One last glass of champagne before we all go on the wagon." "It will hold down the ron," I said, accepting with thanks.
  We raised our glasses on high and drained them. It was a joy to be alive in this pleasant universe, particularly with a family like mine. Then the champagne hit the aged ron and I felt a mild rumble in my midriff that was followed instantly by a quick blast of gastric fire. Angelina was right, it was time to go on the wagon.
  After this bottle was finished, of course.