“Isn’t that a little ornate?” Angelina asked, pointing to all the gold braid and jingling rows of medals on my uniform.

“Not in the slightest. People appreciate a good show. And they like a president to look like a president. Let’s go!” We flew to the city in an armed group, and equally wellarmed cars met us at the airport. Zapilote would love to assassinate us if he got a chance so all precautions were taken. Once we entered the opera house we would be all right, since by mutual agreement no weapons would be allowed inside. Zapilote was just as careful of his skin as I was of mine.

He was on the platform ahead of us, and snarled and spat when I waved a cheery greeting.

“Not in a very cheerful mood is he? I hope he has good reason. “ It was a great social occasion and the crowd was buzzing with excitement. Champagne was being drunk in great quantities, though between sips all eyes were on the great screen over our heads where the results would be displayed. Right now it read zero zero just like the opening of a ball game.

There was a sudden hush as a bell rang loudly and the chairman of the balloting committee took his position before the microphone.

“The polls are closed and counting will now begin,” he said, and everyone cheered. “Here is our first count, just in, from Cucaracha City. Are you there, Cucaracha?” The screen below the scoreboard cleared and an immense projected face appeared.

“Here is the count from Cucaracha City,” the man said, then lowered his eyes to consult the paper in his hand. “For President Zapilote, sixteen votes. Next, for Sir Harapo... nine hundred and eighty-five. Long live Harapo!” But as soon as he had shouted this he looked around worriedly, then vanished from the screen. The marqu6z leaned over to me and whispered behind his hand.

“Very good. You would never know that it was a computer talking, not the real man.” “It’s even better than that-because that was the real man. An honest vote. Let’s hope they all come in like that.” But of course they didn’t. Zapilote’s henchmen had done their work well, so that a number of counts were just as skewed as the first one-only in the opposite direction. Bit by bit the returns mounted-and the tension did . as well. Because we were neck and neck. Wherever an honest vote had been recorded the Avenging Terriers ate the Happy Buzzards. Far too often the opposite was true. At times we would be ahead by a whisker, at other times they led by a beak. It was neck and neck.

“It is very exciting,” de Torres said. ‘This election business has more fascination than a bull fight. But it gives one a thirst. I happen to have some ninety-year-old ron in my pocket flask. Would you care to give me an opinion on its quality?” Without too much urging I gave my opinion and he checked it. There were now only four polling stations to go. “Are any of these ours?” de Torres whispered. “I don’t know!” I groaned. “I’ve lost track.” First Zapilote led, then the votes fell to me, then, on the next to last report, he was ahead by seventy-five votes.

“You could have done a better job of cooking the books,” Angelina said. “Or simply shot the old buzzard.” “Democracy, my pet. One person, one vote, you know the theory, and the results never known until the very last vote is counted...” “Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, the report is coming in now, the very last report!” A face filled the screen above our heads and we twisted our necks to look up at it. A man, heavily moustached and gloomy of mien.

“It is my pleasure to bring to you the final ballot from the resort town of Solysombra, garden spot of the south coast • ..” The audience groaned and I gritted my teeth. “... the final count is... just a moment I have the paper here.” “I want that man killed at once!” Zapilote called out, and the marquez nodded agreement with the dictator for the first and only time in his life.

“Yes, here it is. It is my pleasure to report that fair Solysombra has awarded eight hundred and nineteen votes to our beloved General-President Zapilote...” “That puts us eight hundred and ninety-four votes behind,” Angelina said. “It’s still not too late to poison him.” “... and for the other candidate, what’s his name, yes, Harapo, I have the unhappiness to report he has managed to scrape together-my goodness!” His eyes bulged and he looked around and began to sweat. “I must report that he has... eight hundred and ninety-six.—votes.” The crowd went wild as the numbers were flashed on the board. Zapilote was shaking his fist in my direction and Angelina was shouting in my ear.

“You won by two votes! Your own and de Torres’s.” “Truth will out!” I stood and waved back at the audience, clenched my fists over my head, bent and kissed Angelina, shook hands with the marquez, thumbed my nose at Zapilote who was frothing with rage, then stepped forward to the microphone. I had to stand there for a minute with my hands raised before the pandemonium died down. The cameras were trained on me, the ears of the galaxy waiting eagerly to hear my words. At last I could speak.

“Thank you, my friends, thank you. I am a modest man-” Angelina clapped loudly at that, which started the audience off again. I nodded and smiled and waited patiently for the applause to die away again.

“As I was saying, I am a modest man and do not thrust myself forward. But the public will has spoken and I will answer it. You have my promise...” I’m not sure if I heard the shot, but the impact of the bullet buried me backwards. My chin dropped to my chest and I saw the red blood pumping out, spreading.

I was falling. Falling into oblivion...

Chapter 32

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 emo179 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.