The group in the Lone Ranger uniforms, he saw, were standing in front
of a huge tri-dimensional animated portrait of Chester Pelton. As he
watched, the pictured candidate raised a clenched fist, and Pelton's
recorded and amplified voice thundered:

"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_"

He recognized the group leader of the Radical-Socialists--the masks
were too small to be more than token disguises--and beckoned to him,
at the same time walking toward his 'copter. The man in black with the
white-handled pistols followed him, spurs jingling.

"Hello, Mr. Cardon," he said, joining him. "Nothing to it. We got a
tip they were coming to sabotage Big Brother, over there. Take out our
sound-recording, and put in one of their own, like they did over in
Queens, last week. The town clowns got here in time to save
everybody's face, so there wasn't any shooting. We're staying put till
they go, though."

"_Put the Literates in their place! Our servants, not our masters!_"
the huge tridianimate bellowed.

Over in Queens, the Independents had managed to get at a similar
tridianimate, had taken out the record, and had put in one: _I am a
lying fraud! Vote for Grant Hamilton and liberty and sound
government!_

"Smart work, Goodkin," he approved. "Don't let any of your boys start
the gunplay. The city cops are beginning to get wise to who's going to