While I ate, the guests continued to arrive. Watching them as they

entered didn't interfere with my demolishing the food or sampling all

of the wines. I had finished stoking up by the time the rest were

just starting, so I could circulate among them. All of the women

were subjected to my very close scrutiny, and most of them enjoyed

it because, if I say so myself, with my new face and the fit of the

uniform I cut a mean swath through the local types. I really wasn't

expecting to run across Angelina's trail this easily, but there was

always the chance. Only a few of the women even remotely resembled her,

but it took only a few words each time to settle the fact that they

were true-blue blue-blood and not my little interstellar killer. This

task was made simpler by the fact that the Freibur beauties ran heavily

towards the flesh, and Angelina was a neat and petite package. I went

back to the bar.

"You have been given a Royal Command," an adenoidal voice said in my

ear while fingers plucked at my sleeve. I turned and gave my best scowl

to the character who still clutched the fabric.

"Let go the suit or I push your buck-toothed face the punch bowl in,"

I growled in my thickest Misteldrossian accent. He let go as if he had

grabbed something hot and got all red and excited-looking. "That's

better," I added, cutting off his next words. "Now--who wants to see

me--the King?"

"Her majesty, the Queen," he managed to squeeze out between thin lips.

"That's good. I want to see her too. Show the way." I forged a way

through the crowd while my new friend clattered behind, trying to pass

me. I stopped before I reached the group around Queen Helda and let him

get ahead all out of breath and sweating.

"Your majesty, this is the Baron--"

"Grav not Baron," I cut in with my hideously rich accent. "Grav Bent

Diebstall from a poor provincial family, cheated centuries ago of our

rightful title by thieving and jealous counts." I scowled straight at

my guide as if he had been in the plot and he turned the flush on again.

"I don't recognize all of your honors, Grav Bent," the Queen said in

her low voice that reminded me of pastures on a misty morn. She pointed

to my manly chest, to the row of decorations I had purchased from a

curio dealer just that morning.

"Galactic medals, your majesty. A younger son of the provincial

nobility, his family impoverished by the greedy and corrupt, can find

little opportunity to advance himself here on Freibur. That is why I

took service offplanet and served for the best years of my youth in the

Stellar Guard. These are for commonplace happenings such as battles,

invasions and space boardings. But _this_ is the one I can really

take pride in--" I fingered through the jingling hardware until I came

to an unsightly thing, all comets, novas and sparkling lights. "This is

the Stellar Star, the most prized award in the Guards." I took it in

my hand and gave it a long look. In fact I think it _was_ a Guard

decoration, given out for reenlisting or five years of K.P. or some

such.

"It's beautiful," the Queen said. Her taste in medals was no better

than her taste in clothes, but what can you expect on these backward

planets.

"It is that," I agreed. "I don't enjoy describing the medal's history,

but if it is a royal command...?" It was, and given very coyly indeed.

I lied about my exploits for awhile and kept them all interested. There

would be plenty of talk about me in the morning and I hoped some of

it would trickle down to Angelina's ears, wherever she was hiding.

Thinking of her took the edge off my fun, and I managed to excuse

myself and go back to the bar.

I spent the rest of the evening talking up the wonders of my imaginary

history to everyone I could nail. Most of them seemed to enjoy it,

since the court was normally short on laughs. The only one who didn't

seem to be getting a charge out of it was myself. Though the plan had

seemed good at first, the more I became involved with it the slower

it appeared. I might flutter around the fringe of these fantastically

dull court circles for months without finding a lead to Angelina. The

process had to be accelerated. There was one idea drifting in and out

of my head, but it bordered on madness. If it misfired I would be

either dead or barred from these noble circles forever. This last was

a fate I could easily stand--but it wouldn't help me find my lovely

quarry. However--if the plan did work it would shortcut all the other

nonsense. I flipped a coin to decide, and of course won since I had

palmed the coin before the toss. It was going to be action.

Before coming I had pocketed a few items that might come in handy

during the course of the evening. One of them was a sure-fire

introduction to the King in case I felt that getting nearer to him

might be of some importance. I slipped this into an outer pocket,

filled the largest glass I could find with sweet wine, and trundled

through the cavernous rooms in search of my prey.

If King Villelm had been crocked when he arrived, he was now almost

paralyzed. He must have had a steel bar sewn into the back of his white

uniform jacket because I swear his own spine shouldn't have held him

up. But he was still drinking and swaying back and forth, his head

bobbing as though it were loosely attached. He had a crowd of old boys

around him and they must have been swapping off-color stories because

they gave me varying degrees of get-lost looks when I trundled up and

snapped to attention. I was bigger than most of them and must have made

a nice blob of color because I caught Villy's eye and the head slowly

slewed around in my direction. One of his octogenarian cronies had met

me earlier in the evening and was forced to make the introduction.

"A very great pleasure to meet your majesty," I droned with a bit of a

drunken blur to my voice. Not that the King noticed, but some of the

others did and scowled. "I am by way of being a bit of an entomologist

myself, if you will pardon the expression, hoping to follow in your

royal footsteps. I am keen on this and feel that greater attention

should be paid on Freibur, more respect given I should say, and

more opportunity taken to utilize the advantageous aspects of the

forminifera, lepidoptera and all the others. Heraldry, for instance,

the flags might utilize the more visual aspects of insects...."

I babbled on like this for a while, the crowd getting impatient with

the unwanted interruption. The King--who wasn't getting in more than

one word in ten--got tired of nodding after a while and his attention

began to wander. My voice thickened and blurred and I could see them

wondering how to get rid of the drunk. When the first tentative hand

reached out for my elbow I played my trump card.

"Because of your majesty's interest," I said, fumbling in my pocket,

"I carefully kept this specimen, carrying it across countless light

years to reach its logical resting place, your highness's collection."

Pulling out the flat plastic case, I held it under his nose. With an

effort he blinked his watery eyes back into focus and let out a little

gasp. The others crowded around and I gave them a few seconds to enjoy

the thing.

Well it was a beautiful bug, I can't deny that. However it had not

traveled across countless light-years because I had just made it myself

that morning. Most of the parts were assembled from other insects,

with a few pieces of plastic thrown in where nature had let me down.

Its body was as long as my hand, and it had three sets of wings, each

set in a different color. There were a lot of legs underneath, pretty

mismatched I'm afraid since they came from a dozen other insects and

a lot of them got mashed or misplaced during construction. Some other

nice touches like a massive stinger, three eyes, a corkscrew tail and

such-like were not lost on my rapt audience. I had had the foresight to

make the case of tinted plastic which blurred the contents nicely and

hinted at rather than revealed them.

"But you must see it more closely, your highness," I said, snapping

open the case while both of us swayed back and forth. This was a

difficult juggling act as I had to hold the case in the same hand as

my wine glass, leaving my other hand free to grasp the monstrosity. I

plucked it out between thumb and forefinger and the king leaned close,

the drink in his own glass slopping back and forth in his eagerness. I

squeezed just a bit with my thumb and the bug popped forward in lively

fashion and dived into the King's glass.

"Save it! Save it!" I cried. "A valuable specimen!" I plunged my

fingers in after it and chased it around and around. Some of the drink

slopped out staining Villelm's gilt-edged cuff. A gasp went up and

angry voices sounded. Someone pulled hard at my shoulder.

"Leave off you title-stealing clots!" I shouted, and pulled away

roughly from the grasp. The drowned insect flew out of my fingers and

landed on the King's chest, from where it fell slowly to the floor,

shedding wings, legs and other parts on the way. I must have used a

very inferior glue. When I leaped to grab the dropping corpse the

forgotten drink in my other hand splashed red and sticky onto the

King's jacket. A howl of anger went up from the crowd.

I'll say this much for the King, he took it well. Stood there swaying

like a tree in the storm, but offering no protest outside of mumbling,

"I say ... I say ..." a few times. Not even when I rubbed the wine in

with my handkerchief, treading on his toes by accident as the crowd

behind pushed too close. One of them pulled hard at my arm, then let go

when I shrugged. My arm struck against Villelm IX's noble chest and his

royal upper plate popped out on the floor to add to the fun.

Fun it was too, once the old boys got cleared away. The younger

nobility leaped to their majesty's defense and I showed them a thing or

two about mix-it-up fighting that I had learned on a number of planets.

They made up in energy what they lacked in technique and we had a

really good go-around. Women screamed, strong men cursed and the King

was half carried out of the fracas. After that things got dirty and I

did too. I couldn't blame them, but that didn't stop me from giving

just as good as I received.

My last memory is of a number of them holding me while another one

hit me. I got him in the face with the shoe on my free leg, but they

grabbed that too and his replacement turned off all the lights.

xv

Uncivilized as my behavior had been, the jailers persisted in treating

me in a most civilized fashion. I grumbled about this and made their

job as hard as possible. I hadn't voluntarily entered prison in order

to win a popularity contest. Pulling all those gags on the poor old

King had been a risk. _Lèse-majesté_ is the sort of crime that is

usually punishable by death. Happily the civilizing influences of the

League had penetrated darkest Freibur, and the locals now fell over

backwards to show me how law-abiding they were. I would have none of

it. When they brought me a meal I ate it, then destroyed the dishes to

show my contempt for this unlawful detention.

This was the bait. The bruises I had suffered would be a small enough

price to pay if my attempt at publicity paid off in the right quarters.

Without a doubt I was being discussed. A figure of shame, a traitor

to my class. A violent man in a peaceful world, and a pugnacious,

combative uncompromising one at that. In short I was all the things a

good Freiburian detested, and the sort of a man Angelina should have a

great deal of interest in.

In spite of its recent bloody past, Freibur was woefully short of

roughneck manpower. Not at the very lowest levels of course; the

portside drinkeries were stuffed with musclebound apes with pinhead

brains. Angelina would be able to recruit all of those she needed. But

strongarm squads alone wouldn't win her a victory. She needed allies

and aid from the nobility, and from what I had seen this sort of talent

was greatly lacking. In my indirect manner I had displayed all the

traits she would be interested in, doing it in such a way that she

wouldn't know the show had been arranged only for her. The trap was

open, all she had to do was step into it.

Metal boomed as the turnkey rapped on the door. "You have visitors,

Grav Diebstall," he said, opening the inner grill.

"Tell them to go to hell!" I shouted. "There's no one on this poxy

planet I want to see."

Paying no attention to my request, he bowed in the governor of the

prison and a pair of ancient types wearing black clothes and severe

looks. I did the best I could to ignore them. They waited grimly until

the guard had gone, then the skinniest opened a folder he was carrying

and slowly drew out a sheet of paper with his fingertips.

"I will not sign a suicide note so you can butcher me in my sleep," I

snarled at him. This rattled him a bit, but he tried to ignore it.

"That is an unfair suggestion," he intoned solemnly. "I am the Royal

Attorney and would never condone such an action." All three of them

nodded together as though they were pulled by one string, and the

effect was so compulsive that I almost nodded myself.

"I will not commit suicide voluntarily," I said harshly to break the

spell of agreement. "That is the last word that will be said on the

subject."

The Royal Attorney had been around the courts long enough not to be

thrown off his mark by this kind of obliquity. He coughed, rattled the

paper, and got back to basics.

"There are a number of crimes you could be charged with young man,"

he droned, with an intensely gloomy expression draped on his face. I

yawned, unimpressed. "I hope this will not have to be done," he went

on, "since it would only cause harm to all concerned. The King himself

does not wish to see this happen, and in fact has pressed upon me his

earnest desire to have this affair ended quietly now. His desire for

peace has prevailed upon us all, and I am here now to put his wish into

action. If you will sign this apology, you will be placed aboard a

starship leaving tonight. The matter will be ended."

"Trying to get rid of me to cover up your drunken brawls at the palace,

hey?" I sneered. The Attorney's face purpled but he controlled his

temper with a magnificent effort. If they threw me off the planet now

everything was wasted.

"You are being insulting, sir!" he snorted. "You are not without blame

in this matter, remember. I heartily recommend that you accept the

King's leniency in this tragic affair and sign the apology." He handed

the paper to me and I tore it to pieces.

"Apologize? Never!" I shouted at them. "I was merely defending my honor

against your drunken louts and larcenous nobility, all descended from

thieves who stole the titles rightly belonging to my family!"

They left then, and the prison governor was the only one young and

sturdy enough for me to help on the way with the toe of my shoe in the

appropriate spot. Everything was as it should be. The door clanged

shut behind them--on a rebellious, cantankerous, belligerent son of

the Freibur soil. I had arranged things perfectly to bring me to the

attention of Angelina. But unless she became interested in me soon I

stood a good chance of spending the rest of my days behind these grim

walls.

Waiting has always been bad for my nerves. I am a thinker during

moments of peace, but a man of action most of the time. It is one

thing to prepare a plan and leap boldly into it. It is another thing

altogether to sit around a grubby prison cell wondering if the plan has

worked or if there is a weak link in the chain of logic.

Should I crack out of this pokey? That shouldn't be hard to do, but it

had better be saved for a last resort. Once out I would have to stay

undercover and there would be no chance of her contacting me. That was

why I was gnawing my way through all my fingernails. The next move

was up to Angelina; all I could do was wait. I only hoped that she

would gather the right conclusions from all the violent evidence I had

supplied.

After a week I was stir-crazy. The Royal Attorney never came back

and there was no talk of a trial or sentencing. I had presented them

with an annoying problem, and they must have been scratching their

heads feebly over it and hoping I would go away. I almost did. Getting

out of this backwoods jail would have been simplicity itself. But

I was waiting for a message from my deadly love. I toyed with the

possibilities of the things she might do. Perhaps arrange pressure

through the court to have me freed? Or smuggle in a file and a note to

see if I could break out on my own? This second possibility appealed

to me most and I shredded my bread every time it arrived to see if

anything had been baked into it. There was nothing.

On the eighth day Angelina made her play, in the most forthright manner

of her own. It was night, but something unaccustomed woke me up.

Listening produced no answers, so I slipped over to the barred opening

in the door and saw a most attractive sight at the end of the hall. The

night guard was sprawled on the floor and a burly masked figure dressed

completely in black stood over him with a cosh in one meaty hand.

Another stranger, dressed like the first, came up and they dragged the

guard further along the hall towards me. One of them rummaged in his

waist wallet and produced a scrap of red cloth that he put between the

guard's limp fingers. Then they turned towards my cell and I moved back

out of sight, climbing noiselessly into bed.

A key grated in the lock and the lights came on. I sat up blinking,

giving a fine imitation of a man waking up.

"Who's there? What do you want?" I asked.

"Up quickly, and get dressed, Diebstall. You're getting out of here."

This was the first thug I had seen, the black-jack still hanging from

his hand. I sagged my jaw a bit, then leaped out of bed with my back to

the wall.

"Assassins!" I hissed. "So that's vile King Villy's bright idea, is it?

Going to put a rope around my neck and swear I hung myself? Well come

on--but don't think it will be easy!"

"Don't be an idiot!" the man whispered. "And shut the big mouth. We're

here to get you out. We're friends." Two more men, dressed the same

way, pushed in behind him, and I had a glimpse of a fourth one in the

hall.

"Friends!" I shouted, "Murderers is more like it! You'll pay dearly for

this crime."

The fourth man, still in the hall, whispered something and they charged

me. I wanted a better glimpse of the boss. He was a small man--if he

_was_ a man. His clothes were loose and bulky, and there was a

stocking mask over his entire head. Angelina would be just about that

tall. But before I could get a better look the thugs were on me. I

kicked one in the stomach and ducked away. This was fighting barroom

style and they had all the advantages. Without shoes or a weapon I

didn't stand a chance, and they weren't afraid to use their coshes. I

tried hard not to smile with victory as they worked me over.

Only reluctantly did I allow myself to be dragged to the place where I

wanted to go.

xvi

Because the pounding on the head had only made me groggy, one of them

broke a sleep capsule under my nose and that was that for a while. So

of course I had no idea of how far we had traveled or where on Freibur

I was. They must have given me the antidote because the next thing I

saw was a scrawny type with a hypodermic injector in his hand. He was

peeling back my eyelid to look and I slapped his hand away.

"Going to torture me before you kill me, swine!" I said, remembering

the role I had to play.

"Don't worry about that," a deep voice said behind me, "you are among

friends. People who can understand your irritation with the present

régime."

This voice wasn't much like Angelina's. Neither was the burly,

sour-faced owner. The medic slid out and left us alone, and I wondered

if the plan had slipped up somewhere. Iron-jaw with the beady eyes had

a familiar look--I recognized him as one of the Freiburian nobility.

I had memorized the lot and looking at his ugly face I dredged up a

mnemonic. A midget painted bright red.

"Rdenrundt--The Count of Rdenrundt," I said, trying to remember what

else I had read about him. "I might believe you were telling me the

truth if you weren't his Highness's first cousin. I find it hard to

consider that you would steal a man from the royal jail for your own

purposes...."

"It's not important what you believe," he snapped angrily. He had

a short fuse and it took him a moment to get his temper back under

control. "Villelm may be my cousin--that doesn't mean I think he is

the perfect ruler for our planet. You talked a lot a about your claims

to higher rank and the fact that you had been cheated. Did you mean

that? Or are you just another parlor wind-bag? Think well before you

answer--you may be committing yourself. There may be other people who

feel as you do, that there is change in the wind."

Impulsive, enthusiastic, that was me. Loyal friend and deadly enemy and

just solid guts when it came to a fight. Jumping forward I grabbed his

hand and pumped it.

"If you are telling me the truth, then you have a man at your side who

will go the whole course. If you are lying to me and this is some trick

of the King's--well then, Count, be ready to fight!"

"No need to fight," he said, extracting his hand with some difficulty

from my clutch. "Not between us at least. We have a difficult course

ahead of us, and we must learn to rely upon each other." He cracked

his knuckles and looked glumly out the window. "I sincerely hope that

I will be able to rely on you. Freibur is a far different world from

the one our ancestors ruled. The League has sapped the fight from our

people. There are none I can really rely on."

"There's nothing wrong with the bunch who took me out of my cell. They

seemed to do the job well enough."

"Muscle!" he spat, and pressed a button on the arm of his chair. "Thugs

with heads of solid stone. I can hire all of those I need. What I need

are men who can lead--help me to lead Freibur into its rightful future."

I didn't mention the man who led the muscle the previous night, the one

who had stayed in the corridor. If Rdenrundt wasn't going to talk about

Angelina I certainly couldn't bring up the topic. Since he wanted brain

not brawn, I decided to give him a little.

"Did you dream up the torn piece of uniform left in the guard's hand in

the prison? That was a good touch."

His eyes narrowed a bit when he turned to look at me. "You're quite

observant, Bent," he said.

"A matter of training," I told him, trying to be both unassuming and

positive at the same time. "There was this piece of red cloth with

a button in the guard's hand, like something he had grabbed in a

struggle. Yet all of the men I saw were dressed only in black. Perhaps

a bit of misdirection...."

"With each passing moment I'm getting happier that you have joined me,"

he said, and showed me all of his ragged teeth in an expression he must

have thought was a grin. "The Old Duke's men wear red livery, as you

undoubtedly know...."

"And the Old Duke is the strongest supporter of Villelm IX," I finished

for him. "It wouldn't hurt in the slightest if he had a falling out

with the King."

"Not the slightest," Rdenrundt echoed, and showed me all of his teeth

again. I was beginning to dislike him intensely. If this was the front

man Angelina had picked for her operation, then he was undoubtedly the

best one for the job on the planet. But he was such a puffed-up crumb,

with barely enough imagination to appreciate the ideas Angelina was

feeding him. Yet I imagine he had the money and the title--and the

ambition--which combination she had to have. Once more I wondered

where she was.

Something came in through the door and I recoiled, thinking the war was

on. It was only a robot, but it made such a hideous amount of hissing

and clanking that I wondered what was wrong with it. The Count ordered

the ghastly thing to wheel over the bar, as it turned away I saw what

could only have been a _chimney_ projecting behind one shoulder.

There was the distinct odor of coal smoke in the air.

"Does that robot burn _coal_--?" I gurgled.

"It does," the Count said, pouring us out a pair of drinks. "It is a

perfect example of what is wrong with the Freiburian economy under the

gracious rule of Villelm the Incompetent. You don't see any robots like

this in the capital!"

"I should hope not," I gasped, staring bug-eyed at the trickle of steam

escaping from the thing, and the stains of rust and coal dust on its

plates. "Of course I've been away a long time ... things change...."

"They don't change fast enough! And don't act galactic-wise with me,

Diebstall. I've been to Misteldross and seen how the rubes live. You

have no robots at all--much less a contraption like this." He kicked at

the thing in sullen anger and it staggered back a bit, valves clicking

open as steam pumped into the leg pistons to straighten it up. "Two

hundred years come next Grundlovsday we will have been in the League,

milked dry and pacified by them--and for what? To provide luxuries for

the King in Freiburbad. While out here we get a miserable consignment

of a few robot brains and some control circuitry. We have to build the

rest of the inefficient monsters ourselves. And out in the real sticks

where you come from they think robot is a misspelling of a boat that

goes with oars!"

He drained his glass and I made no attempt to explain to him the

economics of galactic commerce, planetary prestige, or the multifold

levels of intercommunication. This lost planet had been cut off

from the mainstream of galactic culture for maybe a thousand years,

until contact had been reestablished after the Breakdown. They were

being eased back into the culture gradually, without any violent

repercussions that might upset the process. Sure, a billion robots

could be dumped here tomorrow. What good would that do the economy? It

was certainly much better to bring in the control units and let the

locals build the things for themselves. If they didn't like the final

product they could improve the design instead of complaining.

The Count of course didn't see it this way. Angelina had done a nice

job of playing upon his prejudices and desires. He was still glaring

at the robot when he leaned forward and suddenly tapped a dial on the

thing's side.

"Look at that!" he shouted. "Down to eighty pounds pressure! Next thing

you know the thing will be falling on its face and burning the place

down. Stoke, you idiot--_stoke_!!"

A couple of relays closed inside the contraption and the robot clanked

and put the tray of glasses down. I took a very long drag on my drink

and enjoyed the scene. Trundling over to the fireplace--at a slower

pace now I'll admit--it opened a door in its stomach and flame belched

out. Using the coal scoop in the pail it shoveled in a good portion of

anthracite and banged the firedoor shut again. Rich black smoke boiled

from its chimney. At least it was housebroken and didn't shake out its

grate here.

"Outside, dammit, outside!" the Count shouted, coughing at the same

time. The smoke was a little thick. I poured another drink and decided

right then that I was going to like Rdenrundt.

I would have liked it a lot better if I could have found Angelina.

This whole affair bore every sign of her light touch, yet she was

nowhere in sight. I was shown to a room and met some of the officers

on the Count's staff. One of them, Kurt, a youth of noble lineage but

no money, showed me around the grounds. The place was a cross between

a feudal keep and a small town, with a high wall cutting it off from

the city proper. There appeared to be no obvious signs of the Count's

plans, outside of the number of armed retainers who lounged about and

practiced uninterestedly in the shooting ranges. It all looked too

peaceful to be true--yet I had been brought here. That was no accident.

I tried a little delicate questioning and Kurt was frank with his

answers. Like a lot of the far-country gentry he bore a grudge against

the central authorities, although he would of course never have gotten

around to doing anything about it on his own. Somehow he had been

recruited and was ready to go along with the plans, all of which were

very vague to him. I doubt if he had ever seen a corpse. That he was

telling me the truth about everything was obvious when I caught him in

his first lie.

We had passed some women and bent a knee, and Kurt had volunteered the

advice that they were the wives of two of the other officers.

"And you're married too?" I asked.

"No. Never had the time, I guess. Now I suppose it's too late, at least

for awhile. When this whole business is over and life is a little more

peaceful there'll be plenty of time to settle down."

"How right," I agreed. "What about the Count? Is he married? I've been

away so many years that it's hard to keep track of that kind of thing.

Wives, children and such." Without being obvious I was watching him

when I asked this, and he gave a little start.

"Well ... yes, you might say. I mean the Count was married, but there

was an accident, he's not married now...." His voice tapered away and

he drew my attention to something else, happy to leave the topic.

Now if there is one thing that always marks Angelina's trail it is a

corpse or two. It took no great amount of inspiration to connect her

with the "accidental" death of the Count's wife. If the death had been

natural Kurt would not have been afraid to talk about it. He didn't

mention the topic again and I made no attempt to pump him. I had my

lead. Angelina may not have been in sight--but her spoor was around me

on all sides. It was just a matter of time now. As soon as I was able

to, I would shake Kurt and hunt up the bully-boys who had spirited me

out of the jail. Buy them a few drinks to assure them that there were

no hard feelings about the beating they had given me. Then pump them

adroitly about the man who had led them.

Angelina made her move first. One of the coal-burning robots came

hissing and clanking around with a message. The Count would like to see

me. I slicked my hair, tucked in my shirt and reported for duty.

I was pleased to see that the Count was a steady and solitary daytime

drinker. In addition, there was very little tobacco in his cigarette;

the sweet smoke filled the room. All this meant he was due for early

dissolution, and I would not be numbered among his mourners. None of

this showed in my expression or attitude of course. I was all flashing

eye and hell-cracking attention.

"Is it action, sir? Is that why you sent for me?" I asked.

"Sit down, sit down," he mumbled, waving me towards a chair. "Relax.

Want a cigarette?" He pushed the box towards me and I eyed the thin

brown cylinders with distaste.

"Not today, sir. I'm laying off smoking for awhile. Sharpening up the

old eye. Keeping the old trigger finger limber and ready for action."

The Count's mind was occupied elsewhere and I doubt if he heard a

word I said. He chewed abstractedly at the inside of his cheek while

he looked me up and down. A decision finally struggled up through his

half-clotted brain.

"What do you know about the Radebrechen family?" he asked, which is

about as exotic a question as I have ever had thrown at me.

"Absolutely nothing," I answered truthfully. "Should I?"

"No ... no...." he answered vaguely, and went back to chewing his

cheek. I was getting high just from breathing the air in the room and I

wondered how he was feeling.

"Come with me," he said, pushing over his chair and almost falling

on top of it. We plodded through a number of halls deeper into the

building, until we came to a door, no different from the ones we had

passed, except this one had a guard in front of it--a rough-looking

brawny type with his arms casually crossed. Just casual enough to let

his fingers hang over his pistol grip. He didn't budge when we came up.

"It's all right," the Duke of Rdenrundt said, with what I swear was a

peevish tone. "He's with me."

"Gotta search him anyway," the guard said. "Orders."

More and more interesting. Who issued orders the Count couldn't

change--in his own castle? As if I didn't know. And I recognized the

guard's voice, he was one of the men who had taken me from my prison

cell. He searched me quickly and efficiently, then stepped aside. The

Count opened the door and I followed him in, trying not to tread on his

heels.

One thing about reality--it is always so much superior to theory. I had

every reason to believe that Angelina would be here, yet it was still

a healthy shock to see her sitting at the table. A kind of electric

charge in my spine tingled right up to the roots of my hair. This was a

moment I had waited for for a very long time. It took a positive effort

to relax and appear indifferent. At least as indifferent as any healthy

young male is in front of an attractive package of femininity.

Of course this girl didn't resemble Angelina very much. Yet I still had

no doubt. The face was changed as was the color of the hair. And though

the face was a new one it still held the same sweet, angelic quality

as the old. Her figure was much the way I remembered it, with perhaps

a few slight improvements. Hers was a surface transformation, with no

attempt at being as complete as the one I had had done to me.

"This is Grav Bent Diebstall," the Count said, fixing his hot and smoky

little eyes on her. "The man you wanted to see, Engela." So she was

still an angel, though under a different name. That was a bad habit she

should watch, only I wasn't going to tell her. A lot of people have

been caught by taking an alias too similar to their old one.

"Why thank you, Cassitor," she said. Cassitor indeed! I'd look unhappy

too if I had to go through life with a handle like Cassitor Rdenrundt.

"It was very nice of you to bring Grav Bent here," she added in the

same light and empty voice.

Cassi must have been expecting a warmer welcome because he stood first

on one foot and then another and mumbled something which neither of us

heard. But Angelina-Engela's welcome stayed at the same temperature,

or perhaps dropped a degree or two as she shuffled some papers on the

table in front of her. Even through his fog the Count caught on and

went out mumbling something else under his breath that I was pretty

sure was one of the shorter and more unwholesome words in the local

dialect. We were alone.

"Why did you tell all those lies about being in the Stellar Guard," she

asked in a quiet voice, apparently still busy at the papers. This was

my cue to smile sardonically, and flick some imaginary dust from my

sleeve.

"Well I certainly couldn't tell all those nice people what I've really

been doing all these years I have been away, could I?" I responded with

wide-eyed simplicity.

"What were you doing, Bent?" she asked and there wasn't a trace of any

emotion in her voice.

"That's really my business, isn't it," I told her, matching toneless

tone for tone. "And while we're asking questions, I would like to know

who you are, and how come you seem to throw more weight around than the

great Count Cassitor?" I'm good at playing this kind of guessing game.

But Angy was just as good and dragged the conversation back to her own

grounds.

"Since I am in the stronger position here, I think you'll find it wise

to answer my questions. Don't be afraid of shocking me. You would be

surprised at the things I know about."

No, Angelica love, I wouldn't be surprised at all. But I couldn't just

tell all without a little resistance. "You're the one behind this

revolution idea, aren't you," I said as a statement, not a question.

"Yes," she said, laying her cards on the table so she could see mine.

"Well if you must know then," I said, "I was smuggling. It is a very

interesting occupation if you happen to know what to take where.

For a number of years I found it was a most lucrative business.

Finally though, a number of governments felt I was giving them unfair

competition, since they were the only ones allowed to cheat the public.

With the pressure on I returned to my sluggish native land for a period

of rest."

Angel-mine was buying no sealed packages and gave me an exhaustive

cross-examination into my smuggling career that showed she had more

than a passing knowledge of the field herself. I had of course no

trouble answering her questions, since in my day I have turned many a

megacredit in this illegal fashion. The only thing I was afraid of was

making it too good, so I described a career of a successful but still

young and not too professional operator. All the time I was talking

I tried to live the role and believe everything I said. This was a

crucial time when I must let drop no hints or mannerisms that might

bring Slippery Jim diGriz to her mind. I had to be the local punk who

had made good and was still on my way up in the universe.

Mind you--our talk was of course all most casual, and carried on in an

atmosphere of passing drinks and lighting cigarettes all designed to

relax me enough to make a few slips. I did of course, slipping in a lie

or two about my successes that she would catch and credit to boyish

enthusiasm. When the chit-chat slowed I tried a question of my own.

"Would you mind telling me what a local family named Radebrechen has to

do with you?"

"What makes you ask?" she said so calm and coolly.

"Your smiling friend Cassitor Rdenrundt asked me about them before we

came here. I told him I knew nothing. What's their connection with you?"

"They want to kill me," she said.

"That would be a shame--and a waste," I told her with my best

come-hither grin. She ignored it. "What can I do about it?" I asked,

going back to business, since she didn't seem interested in my

masculine attractions.

"I want you to be my bodyguard," she said, and when I smiled and opened

my mouth to speak she went on, "and please spare me any remarks about

how it is a body you would like to guard. I get enough of that from

Cassitor."

"All I wanted to say was that I accepted the position," which was a big

lie because I had had some such phrase in mind. It was hard to stay

ahead of Angelina and I mustn't relax for an instant I reminded myself

again. "Just tell me more about the people who are out to kill you."

"It seems that Count Rdenrundt was married," Angelicious said, toying

with her glass in a simple, girlish way. "His wife committed suicide in

a very stupid and compromising manner. Her family--who are of course

the Radebrechen--think I killed her, and want to revenge her supposed

murder by killing me in turn. Apparently in this lost corner of Freibur

the vendetta still has meaning, and this family of rich morons still

subscribe to it."

All at once the picture was getting clearer. Count Rdenrundt--a born

opportunist--aided his noble fortunes by marrying the daughter of this

family. This must have worked well enough until Angelina came along.

Then the extra wife was in the way, and ignorant of this charming local

custom of revenge-killing, Angelina had removed a stumbling stone.

Something had gone wrong--probably the Count had bungled, from the look

of the man--and now the vendetta was on. And my Angel wanted me to

interpose my frail flesh between her and the killers. Apparently she

was finding this retarded planet more than she had bargained for. Now

was the time for me to be bold.

"Was it suicide?" I asked, "Or did you kill her?"

"Yes, I killed her," she said. The sparring was over and all our cards

were on the table. The decision was up to me.

xvii

Well what else was there to do? I hadn't come this far, getting myself

shot, bashed on the head and well-stomped, just to arrest her. I mean

I was going to arrest her, of course, but it was next to impossible in

the center of the Count's stronghold. Besides that, I wanted to find

out a bit more about the Count's proposed uprising, since this would

certainly come within the jurisdiction of the Special Corps. If I was

going to reenlist I had better bring along a few prizes to show my good

intentions.

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

on 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 as a

figurehead and we must use him for that. But the power and decisions

must be ours."

I wasn't being slow, just wary. I chewed around her statements from all

sides before I answered. "Just what is this _we_ and _ours_

business? Where do I fit in?"

Angelilith leaned back in her chair and tossed a lock of her lovely

golden hair to one side. Her smile had about a two thousand volt charge

and was aimed at me.

"I want you to come in with me on this thing," she said with a voice

rich as warm honey. "A partnership. We'll keep the Count of Rdenrundt

out in front until the plan succeeds. Then eliminate him and go the

rest of the way ourselves. Do you agree?"

"Well," I said. Then with brilliant inspiration, "Well...." again. For

the first time in a lifetime of verbal pyrotechnics I found the flow

shut off. I paced the room and pulled my scattered wits together.

"I hate to look a gift rocket in the tubes," I told her,

"nevertheless--why _me_? A simple but hard working bodyguard, who

will guard your person, labor for the cause and look forward to the

restoration of his stolen lands and title. How come the big jump from

office boy to board chairman?"

"You know better than to ask that," she said and smiled, and the

temperature of the room rose ten degrees. "I think you can handle this

job as well as I can, and enjoy doing it. Working together, you and I

will make this the cleanest revolt that ever took over a planet. What

do you say?"

I was pacing behind her as she talked. She stood up and took me by

the arm, stilling my restless walking. I could feel the warmth of her

fingers burning through my thin shirt. Her face was in front of me,

smiling, and her voice pitched so low that I barely heard it.

"It would be something, wouldn't it. You and I ... together."

_Wouldn't_ it! There are occasions when words can't say it all and

your body speaks for you. This was a time like that. Without physical

deliberation my arms were around her, pulling her to me, my mouth

pushing down on hers.

For the briefest of instants she was the same, her arms tight on my

shoulders, her lips alive. Just for a sliver of time so brief that

afterwards I couldn't be sure that I hadn't imagined it. Then the

warmth was suddenly drained away and everything was wrong.

She didn't fight me or attempt to push back. But her lips were lifeless

under mine and her eyes open, looking at me with a sterile emptiness.

She did nothing until I had dropped my arms and stepped away, then she

seated herself stiffly in the chair again.

"What's wrong?" I asked not trusting myself to say more.

"A pretty face--is that all you think of?" she asked, and the words

seemed pulled from her in sobs. Expressing real emotions didn't come

easily with her. "Are you men all alike--all the same--?"

"Nonsense!" I shouted, angered in spite of myself. "You wanted me to

kiss you--don't deny it! What changed your mind?"

"Would you want to kiss _her_?" Angelina screamed, torn by

emotions I couldn't understand. She pulled at a thin chain around her

neck. It snapped and she half threw it at me. There was a tiny locket

on the chain, still warm from her body. It had an image-enlarger in

it, and when held at the right angle the picture inside could be seen

clearly. I had the chance for only a single glimpse at the girl in the

photograph, then Angelina changed her mind and pulled it away, pushing

me towards the door at the same time. It slammed behind me and I heard

the heavy safety bolts thud home.

Ignoring the guard's raised eyebrows I stamped down the hall to my own

room. My emotions had triumphed nicely over my powers of reason, and

apparently Angelina's had too--for just an instant. Yet I couldn't

understand her cold withdrawal or the significance of the picture. Why

did she wear it?

I had only had a single glimpse of the contents but that was enough.

It was the photo of a young girl, a sister perhaps? A tragic thing,

one of those horrible proofs of the law of chance that an almost

infinite number of combinations are possible. This girl was cursed with

ugliness, that is the only way to describe it. It was no single factor

of a bent back, adenoidal jaw or protruding nose. Instead it was the

damning combination of traits that combined to form a single, repellent

whole. I didn't like it. But what did it matter....

I sat down suddenly with the clear realization that I was being

incredibly stupid. Angelina had given me a simple brief glimpse into

the dark motivations that had made her, shaped her life.

Of course. The girl in the picture was Angelina herself.

With this realization so many other things became clear. Many times

when looking at her I had wondered why that deadly mind should be

housed in such an attractive package. The answer was clearly that I

wasn't looking at the original package that had shaped the mind. To be

a man and to be ugly is bad enough. What must it feel like to a woman?

How do you live when mirrors are your enemies and people turn away

rather than look at you? How do you bear life when at the same time you

are blessed--or cursed--with a keen and intelligent mind that sees and

is aware of everything, makes the inescapable conclusions and misses

not the slightest hint of repulsion.

Some girls might commit suicide, but not Angelina. I could guess what

she had done. Hating herself, loathing and detesting her world and the

people on it, she would have had no compunction about committing a

crime to gain the money she wanted. Money for an operation to correct

one of those imperfections. Then more money for more operations. Then

someone who dared to stop her in this task, and the ease and perhaps

pleasure with which she killed him. The slow upward climb through crime

and murder--to beauty. And during the climb the wonderful brain that

had been housed in the illformed flesh had been warped and changed.

Poor Angelina. I could be sorry for her without forgetting the ones she

had killed. Poor, tragic, alone girl who in winning half the battle

had lost the other half. Purchased skill had shaped the body into a

lovely--truthfully an angelic--form. Yet in succeeding, the strength of

the mind that had accomplished all this had been deformed until it had

been made as ugly as the body had been in the beginning.

Yet if you could change a body--couldn't you change a mind? Could

something be done for her?

The very pressure and magnitude of my thoughts drove me out of the

small room and into the air. It was nearing midnight and the guards

would be stationed below and all the doors locked. Rather than face

the explanations and simple mechanical difficulties, I climbed upwards

instead. There would be no one in the roofgardens and walkways this

time of night; I could be alone.

Freibur has no moon, but it was a clear night and the stars cast enough

light to see by. The roof guard saluted when I went by, and I could see

the red spark of a cigarette in his hand. I should have said something

about it, but my mind was too occupied. Passing on I turned a corner

and stood leaning on the parapet, looking out unseeingly at the black

bulk of the mountains.

Something kept gnawing for attention and after a few minutes I

recognized what it was. The guard. He was there for a purpose, and

smoking on duty wasn't considered the best behavior for a sentry.

Perhaps I was being finicky, but it is a failing of mine. Take care of

all the small factors and the big ones take care of themselves. In any

case, simply thinking about it was bothering me, so I might as well go

around and say a word to him.

He wasn't at his usual post, which was optimistic; at least he was

making the rounds and keeping an eye on things. I started to walk back

when I noticed the broken flowers hanging from the edge of the garden.

This was most unusual because the roofgardens were the Count's special

pleasure and were practically manicured daily. Then I saw the dark

patch in among the flowers and had the first intimation that something

was very, very wrong.

It was the guard, and he was either dead or deeply unconscious. I

didn't bother to find out which. There was only one reason I could

think of for someone to be here at night like this. Angelina. Her room

was on the top floor, almost below this spot. Silently I ran to the

decorative railing and looked over. Five meters below was the white

patch of the balcony outside her window. Something black and formless

was crouched there.

My gun was in my room. For one of the few times in my life I had been

so disturbed that my normal precautions were forgotten. My concern over

Angelina was going to cost her her life.

All of this I realized in a fraction of a second as my fingers ran

along the balustrade. A shiny blob was fixed there, anchoring a strand

so thin that it was invisible, yet I knew was as strong as a cable.

The assassin had lowered himself with a web-spinner, a tiny device

that spun a thin strand like a spider. Only the strand's substance

was formed of a single long-chain molecule that could support a man's

weight. It would slice my hands like the sharpest blade if I tried to

slide down it.

There was only one way I could reach that balcony, a tiny square above

the two kilometer drop into the valley below. I made the decision even

as I was leaping up onto the rail. It had a wide flat top and I sat

for an instant to catch my balance. Below me the window swung open

noiselessly and I dropped, my heels extended, aiming for the man below.

I turned in the air and instead of hitting him squarely I caromed off

his shoulder and we both sprawled onto the balcony. It shivered under

the impact, but the ancient stone held. The fall had half-stunned me,

and with pain-blurred reasoning I hoped that his shoulder felt as bad

as my leg. For a few moments I could do nothing but gasp for breath and

try to scramble towards him. A long, thin-bladed knife had been knocked

from his hand by the impact and I could see it glittering where he

reached for it. His fingers clutched it just as I attacked. He grunted

and made a vicious stab at me that brushed my sleeve. Before he could

draw back I had his knife wrist in my hand and clamped on.

It was a silent, nightmare battle. Both of us were half-dazed from my

drop, yet we knew it was life we were battling for. I couldn't stand

because of my bruised leg and he was instantly on top of me, heavier

and stronger. He couldn't use the arm I had landed on, but it took all

the strength of both my arms to hold away the menacing blade. There was

no sound other than our hoarse panting.

This assassin was going to win as weight and remorseless strength

brought the knife down. Sweat almost blinded me, but I could still see

well enough to notice the twisted way his other arm hung. I had broken

a bone when I hit--yet he had never made a sound.

There is no such thing as fair fighting when you are struggling for

your life. I squirmed my leg out from under him and managed to bend it

enough to dig the knee into his broken arm. His whole body shuddered. I

did it again. Harder. He twisted, trying to pull away from the pain. I

heaved sideways, throwing him off balance. His elbow bent as he tried

to save himself from falling and I put all my strength in both hands

turning that sinewy wrist and driving the hand backwards.

It almost worked, but he was still stronger than I was and the point of

the blade merely scratched his chest. Even as I was fighting to turn

the hand again he shuddered and died.

A ruse would not have tricked me--but this was no ruse. I felt every

muscle in his body tighten rock-hard in a spasm as he fell sideways.

My grip on his wrist didn't lessen until the light came on in the room

behind me. Only then did I see the ugly yellow stain halfway up the

blade of the knife. A quick-acting nerve poison, silent and deadly.

There, on the sleeve of my shirt, was a thin yellow mark where the

blade had brushed me. I knew these poisons didn't need a puncture, they

could work just as well on the naked skin.

With infinite caution, struggling against the fatigue that wanted my

hands to shake, I peeled my shirt slowly off. Only when it had been

hurled on top of the corpse did I let myself drop backwards, gasping

for air.

My leg could work now, though it hurt hideously. It must have been

bruised but not broken since it supported my weight. Turning, I

stumbled to the high window and threw it open. Light streamed out on

the body behind me. Angelina was sitting up in bed, her face smooth and

her hands folded on the covers in front of her. Only her eyes showing

any awareness of what had happened.

"Dead," I said with a dry throat, and spat to clear it. "Killed by his

own poison." I stumped into the room, testing my leg.

"I was sleeping, I didn't hear him open the window," she said. "Thank

you."

Actress, liar, cheat, murderess. She had played a hundred roles in

countless voices. Yet when she said those final words there was a ring

of unforged feeling to them. This murder attempt had come too soon

after the earlier traumatic scene. Her defenses were still down, her

real emotions showing.

Her hair hung to her shoulders, brushing the single ribbons of her

nightgown which was made of some thin and soft fabric; intimate. This

sight, on top of the events of the evening, removed any reserve I might

have had. I was kneeling by the bed, holding her shoulders and staring

deep into her eyes, trying to reach what lay behind them. The locket

with the broken chain lay on the bed-side table. I grabbed it in my

fist.

"Don't you realize this girl doesn't exist except in your own memory,"

I said, and Angelina didn't move. "It's past like everything else. You

were a baby--now you're a woman. You were a little girl--now you're a

woman. You may have been this girl--but you are not any more!"

With a convulsive movement I turned and hurled the thing out of the

window into the darkness.

"You're none of those things of the past, Angelina!" I said with an

intensity louder than a shout. "You are yourself ... just yourself!"

I kissed her then and there was no trace of the pushing away or

rejection there had been before. As I needed her, she needed me.

xviii

Dawn was just touching the sky when I brought the assassin's body in

to the Count. I was deprived of the pleasure of waking him since the

sergeant of the guard had already done this when the roof sentry had

been discovered. The guard was dead too, from a tiny puncture of the

same poison-tipped blade. The guardsmen and the Count were all gathered

around the body on the floor of the Count's sitting room and chattering

away about this mystery, the inexplicable death of the sentry. They

didn't see me until I dropped my corpse down by the other one, and they

all jumped back.

"Here's the killer," I told them, not without a certain amount of

pride. Count Cassitor must have recognized the thug because he gave

a shuddering start and popped his eyes. No doubt an ex-relative,

brother-in-law or something. I imagined he hadn't believed that the

Radebrechen family would really go through with their threats of

revenge.

A certain uneasiness about the guard sergeant gave me my first cue that

I was imagining wrong. The sergeant glanced back and forth from the

corpse to the Count and I wondered what thoughts were going through

his shaven and thick-skulled military head. There were wheels within

wheels here and I would like to have known what was going on. I made

a mental note to have a buddy-to-buddy talk with sarge at the first

opportunity. The Count chewed his cheek and cracked his knuckles over

the bodies, and finally ordered them dragged out.

"Stay here, Bent," he said as I started to leave with the others. I

dropped into a chair while he locked the rest out. Then he made a

rush for the bar and choked down about a waterglass full of the local

spirits. Only when he was working on his second glass did he remember

to offer me some of this potable aqua regia. I wasn't saying no, and

while I sipped at it I wondered what he was so upset about.

First the Count checked the locks on all the doors and sealed the

single window. His ring key unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and

he took out a small electronic device with controls and an extendible

aerial on top.

"Well look at that!" I said when he pulled out the aerial. He didn't

answer me, just shot a long look at me from under his eyebrows, and

went back to adjusting the thing. Only when it was turned on and the

green light glowed on the top did he relax a bit.

"You know what this is?" he asked, pointing at the gadget.

"Of course," I said. "But not from seeing them on Freibur. They aren't

that common."

"They aren't common at all," he mumbled, staring at the green light

which glowed steadily. "As far as I know this is the only one on the

planet--so I wish you wouldn't mention it to anybody. _Anybody_,"

he repeated with emphasis.

"Not my business," I told him with disarming lack of interest. "I think

a man's entitled to his privacy."

I liked privacy myself and had used snooper-detectors like this one

plenty of times. They could sense electronic or radiation snoopers and

gave instant warning. There were ways of fooling them, but it wasn't

easy to do. As long as no one knew about the thing the Count could be

sure he wasn't being eavesdropped on. But who would want to do that?

He was in the middle of his own building--and even he must know that

snooper devices couldn't be worked from a distance. There was distinct

smell of rat in the air, and I was beginning to get an idea of what was

going on. The Count didn't leave me any doubt as to who the rat was.

"You're not a stupid man, Grav Diebstall," he said, which means he

thought I was a lot stupider than he was. "You've been offplanet and

seen other worlds. You know how backward and suppressed we are here,

or you wouldn't have joined with me to help throw off the yoke around

our planet's neck. No sacrifice is too great if it will bring closer

this day of liberation." For some reason he was sweating now and had

resumed his unpleasant habit of cracking the knuckles. The side of his

head--where Angela had landed the bottle--was covered with plasti-skin

and dry of sweat. I hoped it hurt.

"This foreign woman you have been guarding--" the Count said, turning

sideways but still watching me from the corners of his eyes. "She

had been of some help in organizing things, but is now putting us in

an embarrassing position. There has been one attempt on her life and

there will probably be others. The Radebrechen are an old and loyal

family--her presence is a continued insult to them." Then he pulled at

his drink and delivered the punch line.

"I think that _you_ can do the job she is doing. Just as well, and

perhaps better. How would you like that?"

Without a doubt I was just brimming over with talent--or there was a

shortage of revolutionaries on this planet. This was the second time

within twelve hours that I had been offered a partnership in the new

order. One thing I was sure of though--Angelovely's offer had been

sincere. Cassi Duke of Rdenrundt's proposition had a distinctly bad

odor to it. I played along to see what he was leading up to.

"I am honored, noble Count," I oozed. "But what will happen to the

foreign woman? I don't imagine she will think much of the idea."

"What she thinks is not important," he snarled and touched his fingers

lightly to the side of his head. He swallowed and got his temper back

under control. "We cannot be cruel to her," he said with one of the

most insincere smiles I have ever seen on a human being's face. "We'll

just hold her in custody. She has some guards who I imagine will be

loyal, but my men will take care of them. You will be with her and

arrest her at the proper time. Just turn her over to the jailers who

will keep her safe. Safe for herself, and out of sight where she can

cause no more trouble for us."

"It's a good plan," I agreed with winning insincerity. "I don't enjoy

the thought of putting this poor woman in jail, but if it is necessary

to the cause it must be done. The ends justify the means."

"You're right. I only wish I was able to state it so clearly. You have

a remarkable ability to turn a phrase, Bent. I'm going to write that

down so I can remember it. The ends justify...."

He scratched away industriously on a note plate. What a knowledge of

history he had--just the man to plan a revolution! I searched my memory

for a few more old saws to supply him with, until my brain was flooded

with a sudden anger. I jumped to my feet.

"If we are going to do this we should not waste any time, Count

Rdenrundt," I said. "I suggest 1800 hours tonight for the action. That

will give you enough time to arrange for the capture of her guards. I

will be in her rooms and will arrest her as soon as I have a message

from you that the first move has succeeded."

"You're correct. A man of action as always, Bent. It will be as you

say." We shook hands then and it took all the will power I possessed to

stop from crushing to a pulp his limp, moist, serpentine paw. I went

straight to Angelina.

"Can we be overheard here?" I asked her.

"No, the room is completely shielded."

"Your former boy-friend, Count Cassi, has a snooper-detector. He may

have other equipment for listening to what goes on here."

This thought didn't bother Angelic in the slightest. She sat by the

mirror, brushing her hair. The scene was lovely but distracting. There

were strong winds blowing through the revolution that threatened to

knock everything down.

"I know about the detector," she said calmly, brushing. "I arranged for

him to get it--without his knowledge of course--and made sure it was

useless on the best frequencies. I keep a close watch on his affairs

that way."

"Were you listening in a few minutes ago when he was making

arrangements with me to kill your guards and throw you into the

dungeons downstairs?"

"No, I wasn't listening," she said with that amazing self-possession

and calm that marked all her actions. She smiled in the mirror at me.

"I was busy just remembering last night."

Women! They insist on mixing everything up together. Perhaps they

operate better that way, but it is very hard on those of us who find

that keeping emotion and logic separate produces sounder thinking. I

had to make her understand the seriousness of this situation.

"Well, if that little bit of news doesn't interest you," I said as

calmly as I could, "Perhaps this does. The rough Radebrechens didn't

send that killer last night--the Count did."

Success at last. Angelina actually stopped combing her hair and her

eyes widened a bit at the import of what I said. She didn't ask any

stupid questions, but waited for me to finish.

"I think you have underestimated the desperation of that rat upstairs.

When you dropped him with that bottle yesterday, you pushed him just

as far as he could be pushed. He must have had his plans already made

and you made his mind up for him. The sergeant of the guard recognized

the assassin and connected him with the Count. That also explains how

the killer got access to the roof and knew just where to find you. It's

also the best explanation I can imagine for the suddenness of this

attack. There's too much coincidence here with the thing happening

right after your battle with Cassitor the Cantankerous."

Angelina had gone back to combing her hair while I talked, fluffing

up the curls. She made no response. Her apparent lack of interest was

beginning to try my nerves.

"Well--what are you going to do about it?" I asked, with more than a

little note of peevishness in my voice.

"Don't you think it's more important to ask what _you_ are going

to do about it?" She delivered this line very lightly, but there was

a lot behind it. I saw she was watching me in the mirror, so I turned

and went over to the window, looking out over the fatal balcony at the

snow-summitted mountain peaks beyond. What was I going to do about it?

Of course that was the question here--much bigger than she realized.

What was I going to do about the whole thing? Everyone was offering

me half-interests in a revolution I hadn't the slightest interest in.

Or did I? What _was_ I doing here? Had I come to arrest Angelina

for the Special Corps? That assignment seemed to have been forgotten

a while back. A decision had to be reached soon. My body disguise

was good--but not that good. It wasn't intended to stand up to long

inspection. Only the fact that Angelina was undoubtedly sure that she

had killed me had prevented her from recognizing my real identity so

far. I had certainly recognized her easily enough, facial changes and

all.

Just at this point the bottom dropped out of everything. There is a

little process called selective forgetting whereby we suppress and

distort memories we find distasteful. My disguise hadn't been meant to

stand inspection this long. Originally I had been sure she would have

penetrated it by now. With this realization came the memory of what I

had said the night before. A wickedly revealing statement that I had

pushed back and forgotten until now.

_You're none of these things out of the past_, I had shouted.

_None of these things ... Angelina._ I had bellowed this and there

had been no protest from her.

Except that she no longer used the name Angelina, she used the alias

Engela here.

When I turned to face her my guilty thoughts must have been scrawled

all over my face, but she only gave me that enigmatic smile and said

nothing. At least she had stopped combing her hair.

"You know I'm not Grav Bent Diebstall," I said with an effort. "How

long have you known?"

"For quite a while; since soon after you came here, in fact."

"Do you know who I am--?"

"I have no idea what your real name is, if that's what you mean. But I

do remember how angry I was when you tricked me out of the battleships,

after all my work. And I recall the intense satisfaction with which I

shot you in Freiburbad. Can you tell me your name now?"

"Jim," I said through the haze I was rooted in. "James diGriz, known as

Slippery Jim to the trade."

"How nice. My name _is_ really Angela. I think it was done as a

horrid joke by my father, which is one of the reasons I enjoyed seeing

him die."

"Why haven't you killed me?" I asked, having a fairly good idea of how

father had passed on.

"Why should I, darling?" she asked, and her light, empty tone was gone.

"We've both made mistakes in the past and it has taken us a dreadfully

long time to find out that we are just alike. I might as well ask you

why you haven't arrested me--that's what you started out to do isn't

it?"

"It was--but...."

"But, what? You must have come here with that idea in mind, but you

were fighting an awful battle with yourself. That's why I hid the fact

that I knew who you really were. You were growing up, getting over

whatever idiotic notions ever involved you with the police in the first

place. I had no idea how the whole thing would come out, though I did

hope. You see I didn't want to kill you, not unless I had to. I knew

you loved me, that was obvious from the beginning. It was different

from the feeble animal passion of all those male brutes who have told

me that they love me. They loved a malleable case of flesh. You love me

for everything that I am, because we are both the same."

"We are not the same," I insisted, but there was no conviction in my

voice. She only smiled. "You kill--and enjoy killing--that's our basic

difference. Don't you see that?"

"Nonsense!" She dismissed the idea with an airy wave. "You killed last

night--rather a good job too--and I didn't notice any reluctance on

your part. In fact, wasn't there a certain amount of enthusiasm?"

I don't know why, but I felt as if a noose was tightening around my

neck. Everything she said was wrong--but I couldn't see where it was

wrong. Where was the way out, the solution that would solve everything?

"Let's leave Freibur," I said at last. "Get away from this monstrous

and unnecessary rebellion. There will be deaths and killing and no need

for them."

"We'll go--if we go someplace where we can do just as well," Angela

said, and there was a hardness back in her voice. "That's not the major

point though. There's something you are going to have to settle in your

own mind before you will be happy. This stupid importance you attach

to death. Don't you realize how completely trivial it is? Two hundred

years from now you, I and every person now living in the galaxy will be

dead. What does it matter if a few of them are helped along and reach

their destination a bit quicker? They'd do the same to you if they had

the chance."

"You're wrong," I insisted, knowing that there is more to living and

dying than just this pessimistic philosophy, but unable in this moment

of stress to clarify and speak my ideas. Angela was a powerful drug and

my tiny remaining shard of compassionate reserve didn't stand a chance,

washed under by the flood of stronger emotions. I pulled her to me,

kissing her, knowing that this solved most of the problems although it

made the final solution that much more difficult.

A thin and irritating buzz scratched at my ears, and Angela heard

it too. Separating was difficult for both of us. I sat and watched

unseeingly while she went to the vidiphone. She blanked the video

circuits and snapped a query into it. I couldn't hear the answer

because she had the speaker off and listened through the earpiece. Once

or twice she said _yes_, and looked up suddenly at me. There was

no indication of whom she was talking to, and I hadn't the slightest

interest. There were problems enough around.

After hanging up she just stood quietly for a moment and I waited for

her to speak. Instead she walked to her dressing table and opened the

drawer. There were a lot of things that could have been concealed

there, but she took out the one thing I was least suspecting.

A gun. Big barreled and deadly, pointing at me.

"Why did you do it, Jim?" she asked, tears in the corners of her eyes.

"Why did you want to do it?"

She didn't even hear my baffled answer. Her thoughts were on

herself--though the recoilless never wavered from a point aimed midway

in my skull. With alarming suddenness she straightened up and angrily

brushed at her eyes.

"You didn't do anything," she said with the old hard chill on her

words. "I did it myself because I let myself believe that one man could

be any different from the others. You have taught me a valuable lesson,

and out of gratitude I will kill you quickly, instead of in the way I

would much prefer."

"What the hell are you talking about," I roared, completely baffled.

"Don't play the innocent to the very end," she said, as she reached

carefully behind her and drew a small heavy bag from under the bed.

"That was the radar post. I installed the equipment myself and have the

operators bribed to give me first notice. A ring of ships--as you well

know--has dropped from space and surrounded this area. Your job was to

keep me occupied so I wouldn't notice this. The plan came perilously

close to succeeding." She put a coat over her arm and backed across the

room.

"If I told you I was innocent--gave you my most sincere word of

honor--would you believe me?" I asked. "I have nothing to do with this

and know nothing about it."

"Hooray for the Boy Space Scout," Angela said with bitter mockery. "Why

don't you admit the truth, since you will be dead in twenty seconds no

matter what you say."

"I've told you the truth." I wondered if I could reach her before she

fired, but knew it was impossible.

"Good-by, James diGriz. It was nice knowing you--for a while. Let me

leave you with a last pleasant thought. All this was in vain. There

is a door and an exit behind me that no one knows about. Before your

police get here I shall be safely gone. And if the thought tortures you

a bit, I intend to go on killing and killing and killing and you will

never be able to stop me."

My Angela raised the gun for a surer aim as she touched a switch in

the molding. A panel rolled back revealing a square of blackness in the

wall.

"Spare me the histrionics, Jim," she said disgustedly, her eyes looking

into mine over the sight of the gun. Her finger tightened. "I wouldn't

expect that kind of juvenile trick from you, staring over my shoulder

and widening your eyes as if there were someone behind me. I'm not

going to turn and look. You're not getting out of this one alive."

"Famous last words," I said as I jumped sideways. The gun boomed but

the bullet plowed into the ceiling. Inskipp stood behind her, twisting

the gun into the air, pulling it out of her hand. Angela just stared at

me in horror and made no move to resist. There were handcuffs locked

on her tiny wrists and she still didn't struggle or cry out. I jumped

forward, shouting her name.

There were two burly types in Patrol uniforms behind Inskipp, and they

took her. Before I could reach the door he stepped through and closed

it behind him. I stumbled to a halt before it, as unable to fight as

Angela had been a minute ago.

xix

"Have a drink," Inskipp said, dropping into Angela's chair and pulling

out a hip flask. "Ersatz terran brandy, not this local brand of plastic

solvent." He offered me a cupful.

"Drop dead, you...." I followed with some of the choicer selections

from my interstellar vocabulary, and tried to knock the cup out of his

hand. He fooled me by raising it and drinking it himself, not in the

least annoyed.

"Is that any kind of language to use on your superior officer in the

Special Corps?" He asked and refilled the cup. "It's a good thing

we're a relaxed organization without too many rules. Still--there are

limits." He held out the cup again and this time I grabbed it and

drained it.

"Why did you do it?" I asked, still wracked by conflicting emotions.

"Because you didn't, that's why. The operation is over, you are a

success. Before you were merely on probation, but now you are a full

agent."

He grubbed in one pocket and pulled out a little gold star made of

paper. After licking it carefully and solemnly he reached out and stuck

it to the front of my shirt.

"I hereby appoint you a Full Agent of the Special Corps," he intoned,

"by authority of the power vested in me."

Cursing, I reached to pick the damn thing off--and laughed instead. It

was absurd. It was also a fine commentary on the honors that went with

the job.

"I thought I was no longer a member of the crew," I told him.

"I never received your resignation," Inskipp said. "Not that it would

have meant anything. You can't resign from the Corps."

"Yeah--but I got your message when you gave me a discharge. Or did you

forget that I stole a ship and you set off the scuttling charge by

remote to blow me up? As you see I managed to pull the fuse just before

it let go."

"Nothing of the sort, my boy," he said, settling back to sip his second

drink. "You were so insistent about looking for the fair Angelina

that I thought you might want to borrow a ship before we had a chance

to assign you one. The one you took had the fuse rigged as it always

is on these occasions. The fuse--not the charge--is set to explode

five seconds _after_ it is removed. I find this gives a certain

independence of mind to prospective agents who regret their manner of

departure."

"You mean--the whole thing was a frame-up?" I gurgled.

"You might say that. I prefer the term 'graduating-exercise'. This is

the time when we find out if our crooked novices really will devote the

rest of their lives to the pursuit of law and order. When they find

out, too. We don't want there to be any regrets in later years. You

found out, didn't you Jim?"

"I found out something ... I'm not quite sure what yet," I said, still

not able to talk about the one thing closest to me.

"It was a fine operation. I must say you showed a lot of imagination in

the way you carried it out." Then he frowned. "But that business with

the bank, I can't say I approve of it. The Corps has all the funds you

will need...."

"Same money," I snapped. "Where does the Corps get it? From planetary

governments. And where do they get it from? Taxes of course. So I take

it directly from the bank. The insurance company pays the bank for the

loss, then declares a smaller income that year, pays less taxes to the

government--and the result is exactly the same as your way!"

Inskipp was well acquainted with this brand of logic so didn't even

bother to answer. I still didn't want to talk about Angela.

"How did you find me?" I asked. "There was no bug on the ship."

"Simple child of nature that you are," Inskipp said, raising his

hands in feigned horror. "Do you really think that any of our ships

_aren't_ bugged? And the job done so well it cannot be detected

if you don't know where to look. For your information the apparently

solid outer door of the spacelock contains quite a complex transmitter,

strong enough for us to detect at quite a distance."

"Then why didn't I hear it?"

"For the simple reason that it wasn't broadcasting. I should add that

the door also contains a receiver. The device only transmits when it

receives the proper signal. We gave you time to reach your destination

and then followed you. We lost you for a while in Freiburbad, but

picked up your trail again in the hospital, right after you played

musical chairs with the corpses. We lent you a hand there, the hospital

was justifiably annoyed but we managed to keep them quiet. After

that it was just a matter of keeping an eye on doctors and surgical

equipment since your next move was obvious. I hope you'll be pleased to

know that you are carrying a very compact little transmitter in your

sternum."