To Die In Italbar

by Roger Zelazny

  "Thank you. Please call me Malacar, Jackara. Or better yet, Rory."

  He rounded the bed to study the picture more closely.

  "That's a good likeness. Where's it from?"

  She brightened, followed to stand beside him.

  "It was a plate, from your biography by that man Gillian. I had it enlarged and tridized. It is the best picture I have of you."

  "I never read the book," he said. "I am trying to remember where the picture was taken, but I can't."

  "That was right before the Parameter Eight Maneuver," she said, "when you were preparing the Fourth Fleet to rendezvous with Conlil. It was taken about an hour prior to your departure, according to the book."

  He turned and looked down at her, smiling.

  "I believe you're correct," he said, and she smiled at this.

  "Cigarette?" he offered.

  "No, thank you."

  He took one himself, lit it.

  How the hell did I walk into this? he asked himself. A real patho case of hero worship--with me as its object. If I say the wrong thing, she'll probably go to pieces. What is the best tack to take with her? Perhaps if I let her think I am nervous, then ask for her confidence on something unimportant .

  "Listen," he said, "you startled me downstairs because nobody knew I was coming to Deiba, and I did not think too many people remembered my face. I came to this place rather than one of the hotels because nobody here cares about faces or names. You surprised me, though. I wanted to keep my presence a secret, and I thought I'd been uncovered."

  "But you're immune to the laws, aren't you?"

  "I'm not here to break them. Not this time, anyhow. I came to obtain some information--quietly, confidentially."

  He stared directly into her eyes.

  "Can I trust you to keep my presence a secret?"

  "Of course," she said. "What else would I do? I was born in the DYNAB. May I assist you with whatever you are doing?"

  "Perhaps," he said, seating himself on the edge of her bed. "If the DYNAB means something to you, what are you doing here?"

  She laughed as she moved to seat herself in a chair across from him.

  "Tell me how to get back. Look at the only job I can have in this town. How long do you think it will take me to save the price of a ticket?"

  "Are you indentured, or under any sort of contract?"

  "No. Why?"

  "I don't know much about the local laws. I was just considering whether I would have to get you out of here the hard way.

  "Get me out of here? Back to the DYNAB?"

  "Of course. That's what you want, isn't it?"

  She turned away from him then and began to cry, silently. He did not move to interfere.

  "Excuse me," she said, "I never-- I never expected anything like this to happen to me. Malacar to walk into my room and offer to take me away. It is something I have dreamed of ..."

  "Then I take it your answer is 'yes'?"

  "Thank you," she said. "Yes, yes it is! But there is something else ..."

  He smiled.

  "What? Perhaps a boy friend you want to take along? That can be arranged too."

  She raised her head and her eyes flashed.

  "No!" she said. "It is nothing like that! I would not have one of these men!"

  "Sorry," he said.

  She stared down at her sandals, her silvered toenails. He flicked his cigarette above a black metal ashtray on the table beside the bed.

  When she spoke again, she spoke very slowly and did not look at him.

  "I would like to do something for the DYNAB. I would like to help you with whatever you are about in Capeville."

  He was silent for a time. Then, "How old are you, Jackara?" he asked.

  "I am not certain. Around twenty-six, I think. At least, that is what I tell people. Perhaps twenty-eight. Maybe twenty-five. But just because I'm young--"

  He raised a hand and silenced her.

  "I am not trying to talk you out of anything. In fact, it is possible that you could be of some assistance to me. I asked your age for a reason. What do you know of _mwalakharan khurr_, which is generally called Deiban fever?"

  She shifted her gaze to the ceiling.

  "I know that it is not too common," she said. "I know that when it does hit you, there is a high fever and a darkening of the complexion. It is supposed to attack the central nervous system. After that, the breathing and the heartbeat are affected. And there is something about the liquids. The body does not exactly lose them, but cellular fluids go extracellular. That's right. And the cells do not reabsorb. That is why you get so thirsty but liquids do not help. You're a doctor, though. You know all that."

  "What else do you know about the condition?"

  "Well, there is no cure and it always kills you, if that is what you mean."

  "Are you certain?" he asked. "Have you never heard of anyone living through it?"

  She looked at him, puzzled.

  "Nobody?" he said. "Nobody has ever lived through it?"

  "Well, they said there was one man. But I was very young then, and it was right after the conflict. I do not remember very much."

  "Tell me what you do remember. There must have been some talk about it later on."

  "He was just a man who lived through it. They never even gave his name."

  "Why not?"

  "After he had been pronounced cured, they were afraid that he would still panic people if they knew who he was. So they withheld his name."

  "H," he said. "Later on, they referred to him as H."

  "Maybe," she said. "I do not know. That's about it, I guess."

  "Where did they treat him? What hospital?"

  "Here in town. But the place is gone now."

  "Where did he come from?"

  "The Mound. Everybody called him 'the man from the Mound' for a while."

  "Was he a local man?"

  "I do not know."

  "What is the Mound?"

  "It is sort of a plateau. You leave the peninsula and go about thirty miles inland, to the northwest. There is a ruined city there--Pei'an. Deiba used to be a part of the old Pei'an Empire. The city is all fallen down, and about the only people interested in it are archaeologists, geologists and visiting Pei'ans. They found him up there while they were deactivating part of the early warning equipment from the war, I guess. Anyhow, there was some sort of military installation set up there then, and when they went up to do something to it, they found this man. They brought him back in an isolation boat and he recovered."

  "Thank you. You've been helpful."

  She smiled, and he returned it.

  "I have a gun," she said, "and I practice with it. I am very accurate, and fast."

  "That is excellent."

  "If there is anything dangerous that you want done--"

  "Perhaps," he said. "You speak of this Mound as if you are familiar with the area. Can you get me a map, or draw me one?"

  "There are no good maps," she said. "But I have been up there many times. I ride a lot too--the _kooryab_--and sometimes I ride inland. The Mound is a very good place for target practice. Nobody bothers you there."

  "It is completely deserted?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. Then you will be able to show it to me."

  "Yes, if you wish. There is not much to see, though. I had thought ..."

  He mashed out his cigarette.

  _She is clean, Shind?_

  _Yes_.

  "I am _really_ interested," he said, "and I know what you thought. You thought that I had come here for purposes of sabotage or revolution. This is more important, however. While a small act of violence may annoy the CL, they can live with it. But if the Mound can furnish me with the information that I want, I will have a clue as to the nature of the greatest terror weapon in the galaxy."

  "What is it?"

  "The identity of H."

  "How could that help you?"

  "I am keeping that to myself for now. I had better start by loo
king up there, though. If my man had a camp up there on the Mound, some traces might still remain, Of what sort, I do not know. But I'm sure that whoever brought him back would have left his gear alone or destroyed it--if they found it at all, that is. If it is still there, I want it."

  "I will help," she said. "I want to help. But I do not get time off until--" and he rose to his feet, towered above her, leaned down, touched her shoulder.

  She shuddered at the contact.

  "You don't understand," he said. "This is your last day in this place. You're your own person now. In the morning I would like you to make arrangements for the purchase or rental of a couple or three of those _kooryabs_, and all the gear we will need to ride to the Mound and spend some time there--maybe a week or so. I don't want to lift ship and have any curious young port controllers track me. When we do ride out of here tomorrow, though, that will be the end of the story so far as you and this place are concerned. You do not have to concern yourself over 'time off' or 'time on.' You are quitting with minimum notice. That's legal here, isn't it?"

  "Yes," she said, sitting straight-backed and gripping the arms of the chair.

  I did not want to, he thought. But she can help me in this respect. And she is a DYNAB girl the damned CL has driven half-nuts. She comes along.

  "Then that is settled," he said, moving back to the bed and lighting another cigarette.

  She seemed to relax.

  "I believe that I will take a cigarette now--Malacar."

  "Rory," he corrected.

  "Rory," she agreed.

  He rose again, gave her one, lit it for her, returned.

  "I never heard anywhere about you being a telepath," she said, after a time.

  "I'm not. It's sort of a trick. Tomorrow I might show you how I do it."

  But not tonight, he thought. Gods! If it's taken this long to get you half-relaxed, I am not going to introduce you to a hairy Darvenian with eyes big as teacups. You would probably scream and they would bring on the bouncers.

  "Mind if I open those shutters for a minute?" he asked.

  "Let me do it."

  "No, that's all right."

  But she was already on her feet and halfway across the room.

  She located a control beneath the sill and they slid back into the wall.

  "Would you like the window opened too?"

  "A little," he said, coming up and standing beside her.

  The window responded to another control, and he inhaled the moist night air.

  "Still raining," he observed, and he extended his hand and flicked an ash outside.

  "Yes."

  Looking out over a low rooftop, they watched the quiet city through the drops and rivulets on the half-raised pane. The lights below were fractured, shifted slightly. With the mild draft that entered, there came the faint salt odor of the sea. "Why do you keep it closed?" he asked her; and, "I hate the sight of that city," she replied, without emotion. "It is not too bad at night, though, when you can't see anything." A faint thunder-rumble rolled down from the hills. He rested his elbows on the sill and leaned forward. After a moment's hesitation, she did too. She was quite close to him then, but he knew that if he touched her the moment would be shattered.

  "Does it rain often here?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said. "Especially at this time of year."

  "Do you do any sailing, or swimming?"

  "I swim, to keep in practice, and I know how to handle small vessels. But I do not especially like the sea."

  "Why not?"

  "My father was drowned. This was after my mother died and they had put me in with the children. He tried to swim around Point Murphy one night. I guess that he was attempting to escape from the Relocation Center. --At least, they told me he had drowned. --It might be that one of those damned guards shot him."

  "Sorry."

  "I was just a child. I didn't know enough to hate them until later."

  He flicked more ashes through the window.

  "What will it be like after you win?" she asked.

  He threw away the cigarette.

  Staring, he saw it become an instant's comet.

  "Win?" he said, turning his head and looking at her. "I am going to fight until I die, but I will never break the CL. I will never win, in that sense. My objective is the preservation of the DYNAB, not the destruction of the CL. I want to keep thirty-four little worlds from becoming subservient to the whims of fourteen leagues. I can't hope to beat them, but maybe I can teach them some respect for the DYNAB-- enough so that the DYNAB might have a chance to grow and expand to the point where it can achieve League status itself one day, rather than being reapportioned and absorbed by the others. If we had a chance to colonize a few dozen more worlds, if we were unhampered by the Leagues instead of being boycotted and cut out every time we tried our hand at something new, then we'd have a chance. I want us to join the CL--not break it--but on our terms. Sure, I hate them, for what they did to us. But they're the best civilization we've got. I want to be in on it--but as an equal."

  "... And the thing on the Mound? The identity of H?"

  He smiled crookedly.

  "If I can get control of H's secret, I'll go down in history as one of the blackest villains who ever lived. But, by the gods! I'll scare the holy hell out of the CL! They'll leave the DYNAB alone for a long time afterward."

  She tossed her cigarette after his and he lit them two more.

  They listened to the voice of a faraway storm-buoy and saw into the distance whenever the lightning flickered. When it flashed far ahead, the skyline was silhouetted dark and gap-toothed before them; when it came from behind, the windows of Capeville each seemed to catch some of its burning and spill it in a different way. Mainly, though, there were only the fractured lights of the city.

  I haven't talked like this in ages, he thought. I don't always have Shind sitting there to tell me who I can trust, though. She's a likable child. Certainly pretty. But those whips, and that funny way the desk clerk acted ... She hates everybody here. I didn't think they went in for the fancier stuff in government-run places. Maybe I'm old-fashioned ... Of course I am. Too bad about her. Perhaps one day she will find somebody, back in the DYNAB, who will be kind to her in just the right ways ... Hell! I _am_ getting old! That air feels good. Nice view.

  A low-flying aircraft passed slowly, circling like a luminous insect. He watched it mdve off in the direction of the field where he had landed.

  Could be a jump-buggy, he decided. About the right size. Who would come down on a night like this when he could stay in a nice, warm, dry orbit until things blow over? --Not counting me, of course.

  The vessel swung through a slow, circular pattern, then hovered as though awaiting landing clearance.

  "Jackara, would you turn the light out?" he asked, and she stiffened beside him. "... And if you have binoculars, or a telescope of some kind," he continued quickly, "please get it for me. I'm curious about that vessel."

  She moved away and he heard a closet opening. After perhaps ten heartbeats, the room grew dark.

  "Here," she said, coming up beside him again.

  He raised the glass to his eye, swung it, adjusted it.

  "What is it?" she asked. "What's the matter?"

  He did not reply immediately, but continued to sharpen the focus.

  There was another flash, from behind them.

  "That vessel is a jump-buggy," he stated. "How many come to Capeville?"

  "Quite a few, of the commercial kind."

  "This one's too small. How many private ones?"

  "Tourists, mainly," she said. "A few every month."

  He collapsed the tube and returned it to her.

  "Maybe I'm overly suspicious," he said. "I'm always afraid they will find a way to keep track of me--"

  "I'd better get the light again," and she retreated through the darkness, then made it go away.

  After he heard the closet closed, he continued to watch the city for a long while.

&n
bsp; At his back, he heard a muffled sob and he turned slowly.

  She was lying on her side on the bed, her legs scissored out behind her, hair hiding her face. She had unbuttoned her blouse and he saw that she had on black underwear.

  He stared for a long moment, then went and sat beside her. He brushed her hair aside and pushed it back over her shoulder, letting his hand rest between her shoulder blades. She continued to cry.

  "I'm sorry," she said, not looking at him. "You wanted a room and a girl, and I can't. I wanted to, but I can't. Not with you. Not so that you would enjoy it. There is a very nice girl named Lorraine and another named Kyla. They are quite popular. I will get one of them to come and be with you tonight."

  She began to rise, and he reached out with his other hand and touched her cheek.

  "Whichever one you bring, she'll get a good night's sleep," he said, "because that's about all I'm fit for right now."

  She looked at him then.

  "You wouldn't lie to me?"

  "Not about that. I'm very sleepy. If you'll just turn back the covers, you can tell me in the morning if I snore."

  She swallowed, nodded vigorously and moved to obey him. Later, he heard her emerge from the bathroom and felt her enter the bed. She had forgotten to close the window. As he liked fresh air, he did not remind her. He lay there, breathing the ocean and listening to the rain.

  "Malacar," he heard her whisper, "are you asleep?"

  "No."

  "What about my things?"

  "What things?"

  "I've got some nice dresses and some books and--well-- just things."

  "We can pack them in the morning and have them shipped to the port and held there until we're ready to leave Deiba. I'll help you."

  "Thanks."

  She turned and twisted some, then lay still. The stormbuoy sounded. He wondered about the jump-buggy that had passed. If the Service had somehow tracked him from the Sol-System, there was nothing they could do to him. On the other hand, he never wanted them to connect him with Deiba or H. If it was indeed a Service ship that had passed, how had they done it? Morwin? He had mentioned a friend in the Service. Could he have notified him or hung some sort of tracer on _The Perseus?_ But Shind had said that he was clean ...

  I must be getting paranoid, he decided. Forget it.

  But he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. The girl moved again, slightly. He moved his eyes about, and through the darkness he could make out the darker outline of her whips on the wall. He winced. Him staring down on all that from the wall. A fake holy picture in a brothel. It amused him and hurt him at the same time. Again the buoy, and the night air coming more chill. A flash, a bit of thunder, the rain. Again. The play of brass butterflies upon the ceiling, the walls ...