To Die In Italbar

by Roger Zelazny

  Yet it was within his power to undo ills. Even now he trudged uphill with this intention. For this he was often known, though the name was only H.

  The day seemed to brighten, though he knew it was well into the afternoon. Seeking the answer, he saw that the trees were smaller, the gaps between their leaves greater. The sunlight fell in more places and there were even flowers-- red and purple, bearded and haloed with gold and pale yellow--drifting on the vines the breezes pushed about him. His way grew steeper, but the grasses that had snatched at his ankles were shorter now and fewer small things rushed chittering about him.

  After perhaps half an hour's time, he could see farther ahead than at any previous point on his journey. For a hundred meters the way lay clear and bright. When he had traversed this distance he met with the first full gap in the living roof and saw there a huge, pale, green pool, the sky. Within ten minutes, he was walking in the open and was able to look back upon the shifting sea of boughs beneath which he had passed. A quarter mile ahead and above lay what seemed the summit of the hill he now realized himself to be climbing. Small, pale-jade clouds hung above it. Avoiding rocks, he approached.

  Attaining this vantage, he was able to see what he guessed to be the final leg of his route. There was a descent of several dozen meters, an hour's walk across a fairly level valley, sloping upward at its far end, and then a steep ascent of high hill or low mountain. He rested, chewed some rations, drank water, moved on.

  The crossing proved uneventful, but he cut himself a staff before he reached its end.

  The air grew more chilly as he climbed the far trail, and the day began to wane. By the time he had reached the halfway mark on his ascent, he felt a certain shortness of breath and his muscles were aching from this as well as the previous days' exertions. He was able to look back over a great distance now, where treetops were like a vast plain beneath a darkening sky and a few birds circled.

  He paused to rest more frequently as he neared the summit, and after a time he saw the first star of evening.

  He pushed himself until he stood upon the broad ridge that was the top of this long, gray line of rocky prominence; by then, the night had come down around him. Cleech had no moons, but the great stars all shone with the brilliance of torches through crystal, and behind them the lesser stars foamed and bubbled in seeming millions. The night sky was a blue and illuminated place.

  He crossed the remaining distance, following the trail with his eyes, and there were lights, lights, lights, and many dark forms that could only be houses, buildings, ground vehicles in motion. Two hours, he guessed, and he could be walking those streets, passing among the inhabitants of peaceful Italbar, stopping at some friendly inn perhaps, for a meal, a drink, passing the time of day with some fellow diner. Then he looked away and thought upon the trail he had walked, knowing that he could not, yet, venture this thing. The vision of Italbar at that moment of time, however, would remain with him all the days of his life.

  Moving back away from the trail, he found a level place to spread his bedroll. He forced himself to eat as much as he could and to drink as much water as his stomach would hold, in preparation for what was to come.

  He combed his hair and beard, relieved himself, undressed, buried his clothing and crawled into the bedroll.

  He stretched his not quite six-foot frame full length, clamped his arms tightly to his sides, clenched his teeth, regarded the stars for a moment, closed his eyes.

  After a time, the lines went out of his face and his jaw sagged. His head rolled toward his left shoulder. His breathing deepened, slowed, seemed to stop altogether, resumed much later, very slowly.

  When he rolled his head to the right, it appeared as if his face had been shellacked, or as if a perfectly fitting mask of glass had been laid upon it. Then the perspiration ran and the droplets glittered like jewels in his beard. His face began to darken. It grew red, then purple, and his mouth opened and his tongue protruded and his breath came into him in great paroxysmic gasps, while saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

  His body shuddered, and he curled himself into a ball and began to shake steadily. Twice his eyes snapped open, unseeing, closing again only slowly. He foamed at the mouth and groaned. Blood trickled from his nose and dried upon his mustache. Periodically, he mumbled. Then his body stiffened for a long while, loosened finally and was still until the next seizure.

  _______________

  The blue-touched mists hid his feet, billowed about him, as though he were walking through snow ten times lighter than any he had ever known. Curving lines of it twisted, drifted, broke, recombined. It was neither warm nor cold. There were no stars overhead, only a pale blue moon that hung motionless in that place of perpetual twilight. Banks of indigo roses lay to his left and there were blue rocks to his right.

  Turning, beyond the rocks, he came upon the shallow flight of stairs that led upward. Narrow at first, they widened until he could no longer see their limits at either hand. He mounted, moving through blue nothingness.

  He came into the garden.

  There were shrubs of all shades and textures of blue, and vines that climbed what might have been walls--though they grew too densely for him to be certain--and stone benches of seeming random situation.

  Wisps of mist drifted here also, slowly, seeming almost to hover. He heard birdsongs above him and from within the vines.

  He advanced into the place, passing at irregular intervals large chunks of stone that glittered like polished quartz. Little rainbows danced about them and hordes of large blue butterflies seemed attracted by the shining. They swarmed, pirouetted, lighted a moment, returned to the air.

  Far ahead, he saw a barely distinct shape, so vast as to be unbelievable, did he possess that critical faculty which gives rise to disbelief.

  It was the form of a woman that he saw, half-hid amid bewilderments of blue, a woman whose hair, blue-black, swept the skies to the farthest horizons, whose eyes he could not see, but only feel, as though she watched from all directions, while her aura and partly glimpsed lineaments were, he knew, the _anima_ of the world. Then came to him a feeling of immense power and immense restraint.

  As he drew nearer to that place in the garden, she vanished. The feeling of her presence persisted.

  He became aware of a blue stone summerhouse, situated behind a high stand of shrubbery.

  The light faded as he neared it until, when he entered, he felt once again the sorry realization that he would only glimpse a smile, a fluttering eyelid, an earlobe, a strand of hair, the sheen of blue moonbeams upon a restless forearm or shoulder. Never had he, nor would he--he felt--look her full in the face, describe with his eyes her entire form.

  "Heidel von Hymack," came the words--not voiced, but in a whisper that carried far better than ordinary speech.

  "Lady--"

  "You did not heed my warning. You started out too soon."

  "I know. I know ... When I am awake you seem unreal, just as now that other place seems but a dream."

  He heard her soft laughter.

  "You have the best of both worlds, you know," she said, "a thing that is seldom given to a man. While you are here with me in this pleasant bower, your body writhes with the extreme symptoms of terrible diseases. When you awaken there, you will be refreshed and whole once again."

  "For a time," he said, seating himself on a stone bench that ran along a wall, resting his back against the wall's cool roughness.

  "... And when that fresh time has passed, you may return here at will--" (Was that a trick of moonlight or a glimpse of her dark, dark eyes? he wondered) "--to be renewed."

  "Yes," he said. "What happens here when I am there?"

  He felt her fingertips brush against his cheek. There came a whelming of delight within him.

  "Are you not happiest when you are here?" she asked.

  "Yes, Myra-o-arym," and he turned his head and kissed her fingertips. "But other things than disease seem to remain behind when I come here--thin
gs that should be in my mind. I-- I cannot remember."

  "This is as it must be, _Dra_ von Hymack. --Now, you must remain with me this time until you are fully refreshed, for the fluids of your body must be in perfect balance for you to do what must be done upon your return. You may depart this place at will, as well you know. But this time I recommend that you await my advice."

  "This time I shall, Lady. --Tell me things."

  "What things, my child?"

  "I-- I am trying to think of them. I--"

  "Do not try too hard. It will be of no avail--"

  "Deiba! That is one of the things I sought! Tell me of Deiba."

  "There is nothing to tell, _Dra_. It is a small world in an insignificant portion of the galaxy. There is nothing special about it."

  "But there is. I am certain. A shrine ... ? Yes. On a high plateau. There is a ruined city all about it. The shrine is underground--is it not?"

  "There are many such places in the universe."

  "But this one is special. Isn't it?"

  "Yes, in a strange, sad way it is, offspring of Terra. Only one man of your race ever came to proper terms with what you met there."

  "What was it?"

  "No," she said; and she touched him once more.

  Then he heard music, soft and simple, and she began to sing to him. He did not hear--or if he heard, did not understand--any of the words she sang; but the blue mists swirled about him and there were perfumes, breezes, a kind of quiet ecstasy; and when he looked again there were no questions at all.

  _______________

  Dr. Larmon Pels orbited the world Lavona and transmitted a message to Medical Central, a message to Immigration and Naturalization Central and a message to Vital Statistics Central. Then he folded his hands and waited.

  There was nothing else for him to do but fold his hands. He did not eat, drink, smoke, breathe, sleep, excrete, feel pain or indulge in any of the other common expressions of the flesh. In fact, he possessed no heartbeat. Various powerful chemical agents with which he had been invested were all that stood between Dr. Pels and putrefaction. There were several things which kept him going, however.

  One was a tiny power system implanted within his body. This allowed him to move about without expending his own energy (though he never descended to the surface of a world, for his mini-powered movements would be overcome immediately, transforming him into a living statue captioned, perhaps, "Collapse"). This system, feeding as it did into his brain, also provided sufficient neural stimulation for his higher cerebral processes to function at all times.

  Totally spacebound and continually thinking, therefore, was Dr. Pels, an exile from the worlds of life, a wanderer, a man who sought, a man who waited--by normal standards, a moving dead man.

  The other thing which kept him going was not so tangible as his physical support system. His body frozen seconds before the onset of clinical death, it was not until days later that his Disposition of Assets Statement was read. Since a frozen man "does not enjoy the same status as a dead man" (_Herms v. Herms_, 18,777 C., Civil No. 187-3424), he may "exercise authority over his possessions by means of earlier demonstrations of intention, in precisely the same fashion as a sleeping man" (_Nyes et al. v. Nyes_, C., Civil No. 14-187-B). Accordingly, despite the protestations of several generations of well-meaning offspring, all of Dr. Pels' assets were converted to cash, which was used to purchase a bubble ship of interstellar capability with full medical laboratory, and to transform Dr. Pels himself from a state of cold inanimation to one of chilly mobility. All of this because, rather than await, dreamless, the hoped-for-but-maybe-never treatment of and recovery from his own condition, he had decided that he would not be especially troubled by dwelling indefinitely at a point perhaps ten seconds removed from death, so long as he could continue with his research. "After all," he had once said, "think of all the persons who at this moment are but ten seconds removed from death and are not even aware of the fact, so that they might attempt that which they most love."

  That which Dr. Pels most loved was pathology, of the most exotic sort. He had been known to trace a new disease halfway across the galaxy. Over the decades he had published brilliant papers, had developed major remedies, had written textbooks, had lectured medical classes from his orbiting laboratory, had been considered for both the Dyarchic Nations and Allied Bodies and Combined Leagues Medical Awards (each, it was rumored, rejecting him for fear that the other might award him) and was granted full access to the general medical information banks of virtually any civilized planet he visited. Just about any other information he desired was relayed to him also.

  Hovering above his laboratory tables--gaunt, hairless, six and a half feet in height and pale as bone--his long, thin fingers adjusting a flame or tilting a squeeze-bulb toward a vacuum-sphere, Dr. Pels seemed uniquely appropriate for the investigation of the many-splendored forms of death. Now, while it was true that he was not liable to the common exercises of living things, there was one pleasure which he possessed in addition to his work. He had music wherever he went. Light music, profound music; there was music about him constantly. His numbed body could feel it, whether he listened or ignored it. It may be that in some way it substituted for the heartbeat and the breathing and all the other little bodily sounds and feelings most men take for granted. Whatever the reason, it had been years since he had been without music.

  Amid music and with folded hands, therefore, he waited. Once he glanced at Lavona, in its black and tawny beauty above him, a tiger in the night. Then he turned his mind to other matters.

  For two decades he had wrestled with a particular disease. Realizing then that he was only a little further along than when he had begun, he decided upon a different avenue of attack: locate the one man who survived it and find out why.

  With this in mind, he had set out in a roundabout fashion for the hub of the Combined Leagues--Solon, Elizabeth and Lincoln, the three artificial worlds designed by Sandow himself, orbiting Kwale's Star--where he might consult the Panopath computer for information as to the whereabouts of the man called H, whose identity he had recently ascertained. The information should be there, though few would know the proper questions to put to the machine.

  Dr. Pels stopped along the way, however, to make inquiry at various worlds. It would be worth the extra time, should he locate his man in this fashion. Once he reached SEL he might wait over a year before obtaining access to Panopath, as major public health projects had automatic priority.

  So he beat a circuitous route toward SEL, hub of the Combined Leagues, concerts streaming about him, death-analysis gear at the ready. He doubted that he would ever reach SEL, or need to. From the little that he had learned in his two decades' struggle against _mwalakharan khurr_, the Deiban fever, he was certain that he would recognize as clues items that another man would dismiss as isolated phenomena. He was also certain that from these clues he would locate the man he sought, and that he would be able to extract from him the weapon which would lay another shade of the Reaper.

  Ten seconds away from eternity, Dr. Pels bared his teeth in a white, white grin above his bony knuckles, as the tempo of the music increased. Soon he would have his answer from the tiger in the night.

  * * *

  When he awakened, his chrono told him that two and a half days had passed. He propped himself up, seized one of the canteens and began to drink water. He was always terribly thirsty after the catharsis-coma. Once he had slaked his thirst, however, he felt perfect; he was vibrant and in tune with everything about him. This balance achieved, it generally stayed strong for several days.

  It was only after minutes of drinking that he noticed it to he a pleasant, cloudless morning.

  Hurriedly, he cleaned his body by means of canteen and handkerchief. Then he donned fresh garments, re-rolled his pack, located his staff, moved toward the trail.

  The downhill way was easy, and he whistled as he went. The trek through the forest seemed a thing that had happened to another person,
years ago. In less than an hour he reached level ground. Shortly, he began to pass dwelling places. As he advanced, they became more common. Almost before he realized it, he was walking along the main street of the small town.

  He stopped the first man he met and asked directions to the hospital. When he tried the second major language of the planet, he received an answer rather than a shrug. Ten blocks. No trouble.

  As he neared the eight-story building, he withdrew a narrow sliver of crystal from a case he carried. Fed into their med-bank, it would tell the doctors all they needed to know about Heidel von Hymack.

  However, when he entered the smoky, periodical-strewn lobby, he found that he did not need to present immediate identification. The receptionist, a middle-aged brunette in a silver, sleeveless thing, belted at the waist, was on her feet and moving toward him. She wore an exotic native amulet on a chain about her neck.

  "Mr. H!" she said. "We've been so worried! There were reports--"

  He leaned his staff against the coat rack.

  "The little girl ... ?"

  "Luci's still holding on, thank the gods. We heard that you were flying up here, and then they lost radio contact; and--"

  "Take me to see her doctor at once."

  The three other inhabitants of the lobby--two men and a woman--stared at him.

  "Just a moment."

  She returned to her desk, touched controls behind it and spoke into a communications unit.

  "Please send someone to the front desk to fetch Mr. H," she said; and to him, "Won't you be seated while you wait?"

  "I'll stand, thank you."

  Then she regarded him again, through blue eyes which for some reason made him feel uncomfortable.

  "What happened?" she asked.

  "Power failure in several systems," he said, looking away. "I had to belly-land it and walk."

  "How far?"

  "Quite a distance."