"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.
"It cannot be!" she cried, and my heart went out to her in her moment of pain. "It cannot be-he cannot be deaddoctors, 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.
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.