"It's working," Bolivar said, as he finished a call on the radio. "That was the tenth precinct in Primoroso. We caught them packing the ballot box. One of the newsmen got it all on 173 tape and there is going to be a recount. We're really lucky that so many newsmen came for this election." "Luck, my son, is never a matter of chance." I humbly averted my eyes. "There are forty-three freelance newsmen here because that was the most I could hire at short notice. Their fares have been paid, they are enjoying their holidayand anything they may make by selling their material is found money." "I should have known," he said. "If there is any crooked way of getting a thing done my dad will think of it!" I slapped him on the shoulder and turned away, too filled with emotion to speak. Praise like this is more precious than pearls. ~ By midaftemoon the fat was really in the fire. We were fighting a rear-guard action and barely holding our own. In some of the smaller towns we knew that we had lost since Zapilote's supporters had simply closed the polls at gunpoint and substituted their own stuffed boxes. We had to let them get away with it. It was the big population centers that counted and we were still managing to hold our own there. With any luck it might be a fairly honest ballot, with a final vote that represented the will of the people.
As the reports came in the marquez began to grow more and more depressed. He cracked his knuckles pensively and shook his head in anger.
"This is no way to go about it! We do nothing on our own! Our people just sit around looking at the wall until it is too late. Only after the illegal acts have been committed do they go into action. We can never win unless we hit them first and hit them hard. Why don't we just shoot all the Zapilote supporters?" "My dear marquez, we have to win in the way we are doing it now. Otherwise it would not be a democratic election." "I'm beginning not to like this democracy of yours. It is too much work. It is much easier to tell the peasants what to do. They like it that way. We know that you will make a better president than that piece of filth Zapilote. So let's just make you president and let it go that." I sighed deeply. Gonzales de Torres, the Marquez de la Rosa, had an attitude towards the world that went with his name. He would never understand the reality of democracy. I had to count upon his kindness and personal code of values to get his cooperation.
"I'll explain some other time. Meanwhile we have to set up the automatic ballot box stuffers." "The what?" "The machines that will return whatever vote we like in the districts we chose." "You can do this? And if you can do it-why aren't you doing it for all the districts and save a lot of time and effort?" "Because we must have what at least appears to be an honest election. If our new world starts corruptly it is going to go on being corrupt. However if we have to give it a little corrupt help I intend to keep that a secret from the electors. We want them to think that democracy works-and it will work after the election. So what we are doing is keeping track of every ballot box that has been rigged, stuffed or falsified in any way. And we are not interfering with the boxes themselves. " "Then we will lose." "No we will win. That ~uaranteed in each of those districts. Because it is not tne boxes that will be interfered with-but the information about those boxes." "You have lost me," he said, then poured some ron into a glass. "This is said to help the mental processes." "Well help mine too, thank you. It is really very simple. We are attaching one of these devices to the phone lines of each of the vote-counting officers in each of the affected districts. " I held up a compact metal box with wires coming from it. He looked at it dubiously. "A miracle of microcircuitry and applied chip technology. With this we monitor all calls to a selected number. Eventually the ballots will be counted and a phone call made. The official will then read out the results. As he does this his call will be intercepted and relayed to your big computer here on another phone line. The computer will take the image of the speaker and his voice, break them down into bits, restructure them so the speaker will then give the results we want-and send the corrected image back down the telephone line. This process will take a small amount of time." "How small? The deception will be detected... " "Not in four milliseconds, four-thousandths of a second, which is all it will take. You have a good computer." "We should do it for all the ballot results?" "No, that would be immoral. What we are doing is moral but illegal. It is a fine point upon which I base my entire existence, which I will attempt to explain to you some day when we have more time. Just a drop more ron-fine, thank you-then back to work." The results of the ballot would be declared in the Primoroso Opera House, a giant ball that been designed for this occasion. Every four years it was packed with Zapilote's followers, who would do no more than greet the rigged vote with wild applause, then hail victory just one more time. This year there would be two candidates on the platform and the results, hopefully, would be a lot different. We kept working and put off leaving as long as possible, until Angelina and the marqueza forcefully dragged us outto the waiting copter.
"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.