Anyway—I wasn’t so sure I wanted to reenlist. It was a little hard to forget that scuttling charge they had tried to blow up under me. The whole thing wasn’t so simple. There were a lot of things mixed up in this. One fact being that I enjoyed Angelina and most of the time I was with her I forgot about those bodies floating in space. They returned at night all right and chopped at my conscience, but I was always tired and went to sleep quickly before they could get through and bother me.
Life was a bed of roses, and I might as well enjoy it before the blossoms withered. Watching Angelady at work was a distinct pleasure, and if you stood my back to the wall and made me swear, I would be forced to admit that I learned a thing or two from her. Singlehandedly she was organizing a revolution on a peaceful planet—and it stood every chance of succeeding. In my small way I helped. The few times she mentioned a problem to me I had a ready answer and in all the cases she went along with my suggestions. Of course I had never toppled governments before, but there are basic laws in crime as in everything else, and it is just a matter of application. This didn’t happen often. Most of the time during those first few weeks I was a plain bodyguard, keeping a wary eye out for assassins. This position had a certain ironical angle that appealed to me greatly.
However there was a serpent in our little Eden of Insurrection, and his name was Rdenrundt. I never heard much, but from a word caught here and there I began to see that the Count wasn’t really cut out to be a revolutionary. The closer we came to the day the more pallid he became. His little physical vices began to add up, and one day the whole thing came to a head.
Angelegant and the Count were in a business session and I sat in the anteroom outside. I shamelessly eavesdropped whenever I could, and this time I had managed to leave the door open a crack after I had checked her into the room. Careful manipulation with my toe opened it a bit more until I could hear the murmur of their voices. An argument was progressing nicely—there were a lot of them at this time—and I could catch a word here and there. The Count was shouting and it was obvious that he wouldn’t give in on some simple and necessary piece of blackmail to advance the cause. Then his tone changed and his voice dropped so I couldn’t hear his words, strain as I might. There was a saccharine wheedle and whine in his voice, and Angelina’s answer was clear enough. A loud and positive no. His bellow brought me to my feet.
“Why not? It’s always no now and I’ve had enough of it!”
There was the sound of tearing cloth and something fell to the floor and broke. I was through the door in a single bound. For a brief instant I had a glimpse of a struggling tableau as he pulled at her. Angelina’s clothing was torn from one shoulder and his fingers were sunk into her arms like claws. Clubbing my pistol I ran forward. Angelina was a bit faster. She pulled a bottle from the table and banged it into the side of his head with neat efficiency. The Count dropped as if he had been shot. She was pulling up her torn blouse when I came roaring to a halt.
“Put the gun away, Bent—it’s all over,” she said in a calm voice. I did, but only after making sure the Count was really out, hoping an extra slam might be needed. But she had done a good job. When I stood up Angelina was already halfway out of the room and I had to run to catch up with her. The only other thing she said was “Wait here,” when she steamed into her room.
It took no great power of divination to see that there was trouble coming—if it hadn’t already arrived. When the Count came to with a busted head he would undoubtedly have some second thoughts about Angelina and revolutions. I thought on these and related subjects while I matched coins with the guards. A few minutes later Angelina called me in.
A long robe covered her arms so the bruises he had made weren’t visible. Though outwardly composed there was a telltale glint in her eyes that meant she was doing a slow burn. I spoke what was undoubtedly the uppermost thought in her mind.
“Want me to fix it so the Count joins his noble ancestors in the family crypt?”
She shook her head no. “He still has his uses. I managed to control my temper—so you had better hold yours.”
“Mine’s in great shape. But what makes you think you can still get work or cooperation out of him? He’s going to have an awful sore head when he comes to.”
Minor factors like this didn’t bother her; she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand. “I can still handle him and make him do whatever I want—within limits. The limitations are his own natural abilities, which I didn’t realize were so slight when I picked him to head this revolt. I’m afraid his cowardice is slowly destroying any large hopes I might have had for him. He will still have value
