Roger Zelazny: To Die In Italbar

To Janie and Dan Armel,

with pleasant memories

of crustacea craft,

artillery practice,

slushes, bicycles,

lots of Crocketts,

roads that went nowhere

and never on Sunday.

On the night he had chosen months before, Malacar Miles crossed the street numbered seven, passing beneath the glowglobe he had damaged during the day.

All three of Blanchen's moons were below the horizon. The sky was slightly overcast, the few visible stars tiny and weak.

Glancing up and down the street, inhaling another puff of lung-conditioner, he moved forward. He wore a black garment with slit pockets, stat-sealed up the front. While crossing, he tested his pockets for access to the side-pacs. Having dyed his entire body black three days before, he was nearinvisible as he moved among shadows.

Atop the building across the street numbered seven, Shind sat, a two-foot ball of fur, unmoving, unblinking.

Before proceeding to Employee Entrance Four, he located three key points in the durrilide wall and deactivated their alarm devices without breaking the circuits. The door at Entrance Four took him longer; but within another fifteen minutes he stood inside the building. The darkness was complete.

Donning goggles and lighting his special torch, he moved ahead, passing through aisles containing identical pieces of machinery. In recent months, he had practiced dismantling and reassembling the proper sections of this particular piece of equipment.

_A human guard is passing in front of the building_.

_Thanks, Shind_.

After a time, _He is turning up the street you took_.

_Let me know if he does anything that seems unusual_.

_He is just walking, shining his light into shadows_.

_Tell me if he stops at any of the places I stopped before I came in_.

_He has passed the first_.

_Good_.

_He has gone by the second one_.

_Capital_.

Malacar opened the housing of one of the machines and removed a component the size of a pair of fists.

_He has stopped by the entrance. He is testing the door_.

He commenced the installation of a similar-appearing component he had carried in with him, stopping only for occasional whiffs from his aerosol.

_He is moving away now_.

_Good_.

Finishing the installation, he replaced and affixed the console cover.

_Advise me when he is out of sight_.

_I will_.

He returned to Employee Entrance Four.

_He is gone_.

Malacar Miles departed then, halting only at key points to remove all traces of his visit.

After three blocks, he paused at an intersection and looked in all directions. A sudden splash of red across the sky indicated the arrival of another transport vessel. He could go no farther.

Blanchen was no ordinary world. So long as he remained within the twelve-by-twelve complex of blocks and did not trip an alarm-device on any of its windowless buildings of durrilide, he was moderately safe from detection. There were, however, several living watchmen assigned to each complex, along with rolling patrols of robots covering a larger area. This is the reason he stood within shadow. He avoided as best he could the glow-globes on each building, the lights which guided low-flying nightcraft and served to orient watchmen.

Seeing nothing at the intersection, he reentered the complex and scouted the rendezvous point.

_To your right. One block over and two ahead. A mechanical car. It is turning a corner. Go right_.

_Thanks_.

He moved to the right, keeping track of the turns he made.

_The vehicle is well off in the distance now_.

_Good_.

He retreated from a watchman, retraced a block, turned at right angles to his course, proceeded three blocks. He froze when he heard the sound of a flying machine.

_Where is it?_

_Stay where you are. You are out of their line of sight_.

_What is it?_

_A small skimmer. It came in quickly from the north. It has slowed. Now it is hovering above the street of your recent activities_.

_Oh God!_

_It is descending_.

Malacar checked the chrono on his left wrist and suppressed a groan. He patted at the bulges of various weapons that he bore.

_It has landed_.

He waited.

After a time, _Two men have emerged from the vehicle. They appear to have been its only occupants. A watchman is coming to meet them_.

_Where did he come from? Not the building?_

_No. From the opposite street. It is as if he had been waiting for them. They are talking now. Now the watchman is shrugging his shoulders_.

Malacar felt the pounding of his heart and sought to control his breathing, so as not to hyperventilate himself in the unusual atmosphere of Blanchen. He inhaled more mist from his aerosol. He started then, as two transports cut the sky in rapid succession--one headed toward the southeast, one west.

_The two men are reentering their vehicle_.

_What of the watchman?_

_He is just standing there--watching_.

He counted twenty-three heartbeats.

_Now the vehicle is beginning to rise, very slowly. Now it is drifting toward the face of the building_.

Though the night was chill, Malacar felt perspiration across his high, dark brow. He brushed it away with the edge of his forefinger.

_They are hovering. Now there is some activity. I cannot determine what it is. it is too dark-- There! Now it is light. They have replaced the globe you damaged. Now they are rising again. The watchman is waving. They are heading back in the direction from which they came_.

Malacar's great frame shook. He laughed.

Then he began working his way, slowly, back in the direction of the rendezvous point--a point he had chosen carefully, as Blanchen was no ordinary world.

In addition to the watchmen and the alarms, there were air-surveillance networks at various altitudes. On the previous evening, his vehicle had blocked them effectively on the way down, and presumably had done the same on the way back out. He checked his chrono and whiffed more of the lungcleaning vapors. He had not taken the trouble to have himself conditioned for the airs of Blanchen, in the fashion of the watchmen, laborers and technicians who dwelled there.

Less than forty minutes ...

Blanchen had no oceans, lakes, rivers, streams. Not a trace of indigenous life remained--only an atmosphere to testify that something had once dwelled there. At one point in its more recent history, the notion had been entertained of retaining a worldscaper to beat it into livable shape. It was rejected on two grounds, however: expense, and the fact that an alternative to habitation had been proposed. A combine of manufacturers and shippers had recommended that its dry lands and preservative atmosphere would provide ideal conditions for making use of the entire planet as a warehouse. They offered the discoverers full partnership in the venture, and for their own part wanted to undertake the development and staffing of the world. These terms were acceptable, accepted and accomplished.

Now Blanchen lay like a durrilitic pineapple with millions of eyes. Thousands of interstellar freighters circled constantly, and between them and the hundreds of thousands of landing docks plied the transport vessels, bringing and taking. The three moons of Blanchen served as traffic control centers and rest havens. The ground crews, working out of area centers, moving between docks and warehouses, bringing and taking. Depending upon the output of industry and the demands of the consumer worlds, a particular dock, area or complex might be constantly busy, occasionally busy or seldom used. Ground crews were shifted according to the flows of activity. The men's pay was good, with living conditions comparable to those of the peacetime military. Unlike a warehouse which serves the world it occupies, however, while storage space means money and prolonged storage a loss thereof, transportation across interstellar distances is extremely costly.