The Stainless Steel Rat

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 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.