In the year 431 of the Intergalactic Federation of Straight, Butch Guys, Dirk Bordeaux was faced with a serious problem. Not the economic ramifications of the failure of that year’s Rainbow crop on the planet Erstwhile—home of the famous Rainbow Wines. Or the increasing racial tensions between the green and the blue inhabitants of Larry’s World. Dirk’s present concern was smaller in scope, but of more immediate consequence.

Dirk repossessed spacecraft for Acme Space Guys. He often found himself doing this when the owners weren’t present. Such a policy made for more peaceful repossessions, and less attrition of Acme employees. On this particular occasion, his quarry was in a garage for routine maintenance. He presented the necessary papers—with police endorsements—to the garage superintendent, and took possession of the ship. He didn’t bother to check the ship’s papers, although it may have been wiser to do so. Halfway to his destination, the engine began to make peculiar coughing sounds. While he did not pretend to be a mechanical expert, Dirk was aware that this was not a good thing. It should not be happening to a ship in for routine maintenance.

This was the problem Dirk now faced. He did not think it likely that he would reach the Acme branch office for which he worked. In fact, the navigation charts showed that the only civilized world he had a good chance of reaching was the sixth planet in the Betelgeuse system. Not only did Dirk not know of an Acme office on the planet, but those people were considered strange even by Federation standards, which took a lot of peculiarity.

Inspired by hindsight, Dirk checked the ship’s registration papers, and then said, “Shit!” It felt so good, he said it again. Then he set his course for the Betelgeuse system.

Dirk was the only person in the seventeen galaxies comprising the IFSBG who was concerned with his personal dilemma. The owner of the craft he was flying had not yet learned of the error leading to repossession of the wrong ship. And campaigns for the upcoming election were about to begin. The election would decide who was to be Chairman of the IFSBG for the next four Earth years. With the job went the title of Chairman of the Board of Directors for Acme Space Guys, and a fat salary commensurate with the title. Even the problems of Larry’s World, Erstwhile, and dozens of other planets, were momentarily forgotten, as preparations for the election began.

The people who worked at Acme Space Guys’ headquarters were especially concerned about the election’s outcome. The vast complex stood just outside the Sol system, using several huge jets to follow the star’s movement through space. Andrew J. Gates sat in his posh office, watching his executive assistant, John Buffet, pace the floor for him. The president and CEO of Acme was distressed this morning, to say the least.

“Isn’t there a way out of it, John?”

“Not a chance, sir,” Buffet answered. “The Senate won’t budge. Their reasoning is that a seat on our Board of Directors for the retiring Chairman is the best way to get quality people to run for office.” He sat down on a leather couch, tired of pacing. “And it’s only guaranteed him for one year. We can tolerate Alabamma McCall that long, surely.”

“But he’s such an idiot! He’s already had the title of Chairman for the last four years. Isn’t that enough?”

Buffet shrugged his shoulders. “The position is titular only; it’s an empty title, and even our departing Chairman knows it. The new position may be a slight drop in pay, but with it comes a chance to do something substantial. There’s no wiggle room here, I’m afraid.”

Gates sighed. “The other directors have insisted that I do something about this schmuck, or they’ll all take extended leaves of absence—leaving us to deal with him, and any other problems that may arise. They’re serious, John, and I’ve no idea what to do.”

“We can always send him to the Andromeda Extents, on the pretext of needing him to direct a program of expansion there. It will satisfy his ego, and we’ve never had a great deal of influence there anyway; he won’t be able to do any real harm. We can also curtail his powers a bit before he leaves. And we’ll ensure he has no oversight in the project to construct a new planet.”

Real relief began to show in Gates’ face. “That just might work,” he acknowledged. “Of course, we can’t do that with every retiring Chairman; we need to try for someone capable—or at least tolerable—this time. And put together a report on the world-building project. I know it’s still a ways off, but I want to stay up-to-date on it.” His problem solved, Andrew Gates was all business: a real force at Acme Space Guys, and consequently, throughout the IFSBG. “Who seems likely to win the election this time?”

“The primaries haven’t yet begun, of course. But three strong Candidates are already getting some attention.” Buffet opened a briefcase, and removed four manilla folders. “One of them is your nephew, Oliver. He’s a favorite with the Board of Directors. I’m sure you already know he’s a well-educated, likable young man, with good sense. He’s also becoming something of a media darling. His blond surfer-boy appearance should play well on video channels. We can begin sponsoring him as Acme’s favorite son as soon as you like.”

“Good. And the other two? What’s your opinion of them?”

“That there’s really nothing wrong with them. We could work with either one, should they manage a victory. They’ve had good educations, and come from respectable, fairly affluent families. One of them may even be our boy in four years.” Buffet rose, walked to Gates, and handed him the folders. “These are their dossiers. Their names are Skip Voyager and Ray Fleming,” he said, returning to the couch. “I know, Skip’s name is a bit flashy, but that’s not unusual in a native of Mondo Blondo—yes, that’s where he’s from. But he’s got good qualities, and should be taken seriously.

“Also, there’s a report on the Erstwhile situation.” Buffet liked to multitask whenever he could. “To summarize, Erstwhile has had unseasonably dry weather this year, which has altered the way that unique atmosphere refracts sunlight. As a result, the rainbows are all too weak to produce any acceptable wines.”

“Are they going to request any financial assistance?”

“No, they’re just going to raise their prices for the next few years. They know their product is in demand, and they’re the only source. Besides, they’ve been stockpiling for years, so they have an abundant supply, mostly well aged.”

“Maybe we could offer them assistance as Acme Space Guys, with no government involvement,” Gates suggested.

“We tried that, but they politely declined. The vintners of Erstwhile don’t seem to want any outside influence; especially not a financial obligation.”

“Have we been able to infiltrate them at all?”

“No, sir. They’ve still been able to block all our attempts at slipping in some of our own people, or buying any of theirs. They screen potential employees too carefully.”

“We need to find out how they make their wines,” Gates asserted. “A monopoly that we don’t control is just not acceptable.”

“We already know how they make them,” Buffet replied. “The wines come from the mushrooms that grow at the base of the rainbows. The product is slightly hallucinogenic, but nowhere near illegal. We’ve already looked into that possibility.”

“Then let’s get to work making a competing product.”

“We’re trying, sir, but the results are not good. Knowing the general theory involved does not replace Erstwhile’s centuries of experience. Without the advice and cooperation of seasoned rainbow vintners, I expect we’ll get nowhere fast.”

“Have you tried our product?” Gates persisted.

“I have. Connoisseurs would describe it as amateurish at best, hideous at worst.”

“But you’re well respected among them. Couldn’t you persuade one or two of them to write somewhat more favorable reviews, that we could publish more extensively?”

Buffet laughed. “Not hardly. They see themselves as artists in their own right, and they have no respect for anybody. Including large corporations like Acme.”

Gates thought about that. “Just how inferior is our product, really?” he asked after a moment.

“Consider a Little League baseball team issuing a challenge to the Major League champion. That would be an apt comparison.”

“Okay, we’ll accept for now that our product is second best. It’s not the first time we’ve had to deal with that. We can still cover a lot more ground than Erstwhile.”

“True. My report covers the subject in detail, as well as an analysis of our latest attempt to persuade the Senate to redistribute the electoral votes for Chairman.”

“What was their ruling?”

“No, as usual.”

“John, it amazes me that we’ve never been able to budge the Senate on this issue. We’re usually able to exert a good deal of influence with them.”

“I know. But Erstwhile’s vintners have some political clout themselves; they just don’t use it very often. And I think the fact that they don’t speak a great deal adds weight to their arguments when they do.”

Gates sighed in exasperation. “This isn’t just an attempt to undermine the competition. I honestly believe that it’s wrong for one planet to control more than ten percent of the vote in an election affecting seventeen galaxies.”

“I agree, sir. But, as the Erstwhile delegation always points out, theirs is not the only civilized planet in Orion Province. There are many heavily populated, productive worlds there. Erstwhile is just the most influential of them.”

“Hell, Erstwhile makes every major decision for the province, and everyone knows it!”

“That may be, but—“

At this point, the intercom buzzed. Annoyed, Gates flipped a switch. “Yes, what is it?” he asked sharply.

“Sir,” the receptionist answered, “the spokesman from Pretty Boy Cosmetics has an appointment with Mr Buffet in twenty minutes. You asked to be reminded.”

“Thank you, Miss Hadderly.” Gates turned back to Buffet. “We’ll discuss Erstwhile later,” he said. “Handle this meeting carefully. It’s not just the trillions the deal could mean for Acme.”

“I know the public goodwill could be significant; a good relationship with Pretty Boy Cosmetics could remove much of the hostility from the hairdressers of Omnicron Seti-Three,” Buffet observed.

“And that could get us positive feelings from almost half their customers, the soccer moms, across the IFSBG,” Gates agreed. “Opportunities like this don’t come every day.”

“No, they do not. You may consider this carefully handled.” Buffet left to prepare for his meeting with the Pretty Boy representative. Gates remained at his desk, reading the reports John Buffet had left with him.

On the sixth planet of the Betelgeuse system, a similar meeting was being held, but with different organization and objectives. In the first place, the participants were not human; they were of feline descent. Secondly, they were unquestionably female. But most importantly, they were not at all interested in maintaining the status quo. In fact, several of them were loudly voicing their opinions of it, and what they felt should be done about it, when the woman manning the chair pounded the table for order.

“Our divisiveness is precisely why we haven’t been able to change things in the past,” she said. She looked at each member of her committee in turn, noting that she had everyone’s attention. “Citizens, our opportunity is now, and we must be ready! The IFSBG is getting set to elect a new Chairman, and everyone is pretty well disgusted with the fool who is presently in office. That means the electorate will be more willing to consider a new face, one that isn’t backed by Acme Space Guys. In addition, society is becoming more liberal than it’s been in years. There’s even talk of Acme conducting a joint venture with Pretty Boy Cosmetics. I don’t know how true that is, but it’s indicative of changes in the wind.”

One of the older committee members spoke up. “Kori,” she said, “if you are seriously suggesting that we run our own Candidate, have you given any thought as to who it might be? While I will concede that people are becoming more liberal, I do not believe they will approve someone of our race. We are a matriarchy, after all.”

“Probably not, Mara,” Kori replied. “But whoever it is, we must all back him. We have to put our differences aside, and reach a consensus, if we want a chance of success. And a chance like this may not ever come again.”

“Agreed, Kori,” said another committee member. “But that still leaves us with the problem of finding a Candidate. Where should we look?”

“Larry’s World.”

Mara laughed at that. “I thought you wanted unity, Kori. No matter whom you choose from Larry’s World, the planet’s other race will vote him down. That would get your campaign off to a shaky start indeed. Besides, the Senate would arbitrarily disqualify a Candidate who is not a human male.”

Kori bristled at the suggestion. “Surely if we can get enough support—“

“No, Kori,” Mara stated flatly. “The Senate is entirely composed of males, most of them human. And they are still too conservative to break a four hundred year tradition. Even if you get all of Orion and Larry’s Provinces behind you, the Senate can, and will, disqualify a nonhuman Candidate.

“You correctly told us that we need to set aside our differences, but we also need to set aside our prejudgments. We can either work within the system, or we can attempt rebellion. And no single planet has the strength to rebel against the Intergalactic Federation of Straight, Butch Guys.”

Kori wanted to argue, but she knew that the wily leader of the Huntress Clan was correct. In any case, Mara never lost arguments.

“All right,” Kori conceded. “I don’t know too many human males, and none I’d want to promote to the Chairmanship. Where do you suggest we look?”

Before Mara could reply, a crash shook the building. Looking out a window, Kori saw a badly damaged spaceship. “Everybody outside,” she said. “Someone might still be in that wreck!”

They rushed outside, and pulled an unconscious male from the craft—a human male.