Zane went to work on his backlogged case load. He was
continuing to grow more proficient, orienting on a given
soul anywhere in the world well within the time his Death-
watch showed. Even so, he found himself becoming
increasingly thoughtful about the nature of his office. Death
was not the calamity of life, but a necessary part of life,
the transition to the Afterlife. The tragedy was not dying,
but dying out of turn, before the natural course of a given
life was run. So many people brought their terminations
upon themselves by indulging in suicidal endeavors, getting
into strong mind-affecting drugs, or tampering with
black magic. Yet he himself had been as foolish, trying
to kill himself because of his loss of a woman about whom
he no longer cared.
In a way, he realized, he had not really been living
until he left his life. He had been born again, in death.
Now, as he got well into the office of Death, he began
to believe he could fill it well. It was intent, more than
capacity, that made the difference. Probably, his
predecessor could have done a superior job - but hadn't
bothered. Zane had less ability, but a strong desire to do right.
He did not have to be a specter. He could try to make
each person's necessary transition from life to Afterlife
gentle. Why should anyone fear it?
Of course, he was still in his initiation period. If the
powers that were didn't approve his performance, his
personal balance of good and evil would suffer, and he
would be doomed to Hell when he left the office. But as
far as he knew, he could not be removed from the office
by any other power. Not as long as he was careful. So if
he was willing to damn his soul, he could continue
indefinitely, doing the job right.
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Yes, that was it. "Damn Eternity!" he swore. "I know
what's right, and I'm going to do it. If God damns me or
Satan blesses me, then it's too bad, but I've got to have
faith in my own honest judgment." Suddenly he felt much
better; his self-doubt had been ameliorated.
His current client was underground, in the general
vicinity of Nashville, the rustic song capital. This was no
problem for Mortis, who merely phased down through the
ground, carrying Zane along. He saw the strata of sand,
gravel, and different kinds of rock, until he reached a
sloping shaft through a vein of coal and came to the chamber
where two miners had been trapped by a recent cavein. There
was no hope for them; air was limited, and it
would take days for others to clear the shaft of rubble.
It was completely dark, but Zane could see well enough.
It seemed his office imbued him with magic vision, so
that mere blackness could not stay him from his appointed
rounds. The men were lying against a wall of rubble,
conserving their strength and breath; they knew there was
no way out.
"Hello," Zane said, feeling awkward.
One of the miners turned his head. The pupils of his
eyes were enormous as they tried to see - and, of course,
Zane became apparent, magically. "Don't look now," the
man murmured, "but I think we're about to cash in our
green stamps."
Of course the other looked and saw. The caped skull!
That's Death!"
"Yes," Zane said. "I have come for one of you.
"You've come for us both," the first miner said. "We've
only got air for an hour, maybe less."
Zane glanced at his watch. "Less," he said.
"God, I don't want to die!" the second miner said.
"But I knew when I heard the cave-in start that it was
hopeless. We were living on borrowed time anyway, with
all the safety violations the company wouldn't fix. If I'd
been smart, I'da gotten out of this business!"
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"Where would you have gone?" the first miner asked.
The other sighed. "Nowhere. I'm fooling myself; this
is the only job I can handle." He looked again at Zane.
"How much time?"
"Nine minutes," Zane replied.
"Time enough to shrive me."
"What?"
"Confess me. You know, my religion, final rites. I
never was a good churchman, but I want to go to Heaven!"
The second miner laughed harshly. "I know I'm not
going there!"
Zane brought the Sinstone near. "You are bound for
Heaven," he told the first. "You are in doubt," he told
the second. "That is why I must take your soul personally."
"In doubt? What does that mean?"
"Your soul is balanced between good and evil, so it is
uncertain whether you will go to Heaven or to Hell, or
abide awhile in Purgatory."
The man laughed. "That's a relief!"
"A relief?"
"As long as I do go to one place or another. I don't
care if it's Hell. I know I deserve it. I've cheated on my
wife, stolen from the government - you name it, I've done
it, and I'm ready to pay."
"You don't fear Hell?"
"Only one thing I fear, and that is being in a cramped
box like this, with the air running out and me helpless -
for eternity. For an hour I can stand it, but not forever.
I don't care what else happens to me, as long as it isn't
that."
"/ care!" the first miner said. "I'm so scared, I'm near
gibbering!"
Zane considered. He realized that the dying needed
someone to hold their hands, not to shun them. It was
hard enough for any person to relate to the unrelatable.
Zane had to try to help. "I came for the one in balance,
but I think the other needs my service more."
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"Sure, help him," the balanced client said. "I won't
say I like dying, but I can handle it, I guess. I knew the
odds when I signed up for this job. Maybe I'll like Hell."
Zane sat beside the other. "How can I help you?"
"Shrive me, I told you; that will help some."
"But I'm no priest; I'm not even of your religion."
"You are Death; you'll do!"
That must be true. "Then I will listen and judge - but
I know already your sin is not great."
"One thing," the man said, troubled. "One thing's
haunted me for decades. My mother - "
"Your mother!" Zane said, feeling a familiar shock.
"I think I killed her. I - " The miner paused. "Are you
all right. Death? You look pale, even for you."
"I understand about killing mothers," Zane said.
"That's good. She - I was just a teenager when - well,
she was in this wing of the hospital, and - "
"I understand," Zane repeated. He reached out and
took the man's hand. He knew his own gloved fingers felt
like bare bones, but the miner did not shy away.
"She had cancer, and I knew she was in pain, but - "
Zane squeezed his hand.
Reassured, the miner continued: "I visited her, and
one day she asked me to step outside the room and read
what it said on the - you know, above the door, what kind
of word it was. So I went out and looked, and there was
something written there, but I couldn't read it. It was in
Latin, I think. I went back and told her that, and she
asked whether it was - she spelled it out, letter by letter,
and you know, she was right, that's what it was. So I
agreed that was it, wondering how she had known it, and
she thanked me. I thought she was pleased."
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The miner took a shuddering breath. "And next morning
she was dead. The doctor said she seemed just to have
given up and died in the night. No one knew why, because
she had been fighting so hard to live before. But I - I
checked into it and found out that that word in Latin I
had spelled for her - it meant incurable. I had told her
there was no hope, and so she quit trying. I guess I killed
her."
"But you didn't know!" Zane protested.
"I should have known. I should have - "
"Then you did her a favor," Zane said. "The others
were hiding the truth from her, keeping her alive and in
pain. You released her from doubt." He was speaking for
himself as much as for the miner. "There is no sin on
your soul for that."
"No, I shouldn't have let her know!"
"Would it have been right to preserve her life by a lie?"
Zane asked. "Would your soul have been cleaner then?"
"It wasn't my place to - "
"Come off it!" the other miner said. "You were guilty
of ignorance. Nothing else. / wouldn't have known what
those Latin words were either."
"How would you know?" the first one snapped. "You
weren't there!"
"I guess not," the second miner admitted wryly. "I
don't even know who my mother was."
The first miner paused, set back. "There is that," he
conceded. Somehow it seemed that in making that
technical concession, he was also accepting the human point.
At least he had known his mother and cared about her.
"Now, I'm no philosopher," the second said. "I'm a
sinner from way back. But maybe if I'd had a mother like
yours, a good woman, I would have turned out better.
So take it from one who hasn't any right to say it: you
should remember your mother, not with guilt or grief, but
with gratitude - for the pleasure she gave you while she
lived, for the way she steered you toward Heaven instead
of Hell."
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"For a sinner, you've got quite an insight! But if I could
only have helped her live longer - "
"Longer in a box with the air turning bad?" the other asked.
"No, I agree," Zane said. "It was time to end it. These
things are scheduled in ways no mortal comprehends. She
knew that, though you did not. If there had been a chance
for survival, she might have been willing to fight on
through, for the sake of her family, for the things she had
to do on Earth. But there wasn't, so it was best that she
not torture herself any longer. She put aside life as you
would put aside a piece of equipment going bad, and she
went out of the gloom of the depths of the mine and on
up to the brightness of Heaven."
"I don't know." The man was breathing shallowly now,
not finding enough oxygen in the air. He seemed to be
more sensitive to this deprivation than his companion
was. Zane had no problem; evidently his magic helped
him this way, too. He was still discovering things about
his office.
"You will join her there," Zane concluded. "There in
Heaven. She will thank you herself."
The miner did not answer, so Zane released his hand
and turned to the other, his true client. "Are you sure
there is nothing I can do for you?"
The man considered. "You know, I'm a cynic, but I
guess I do sort of crave some meaning in life, or at least
some understanding. There's this song going 'round in my
head, and it sort of grabs me, and I think it means
something, but I don't know what."
"I'm not expert at meaning," Zane said. "But I can
try. What is the song?"
"I don't know the title or anything. It's just, I guess
it's an old whaling song. Maybe I have whaling blood in
my veins. It goes - what I can remember - goes like this:
... and the whale gave aflunder with its tail, and the boat
capsized, and I lost my darling man, and he'll never,
never sail again. Great God! And he'll never sail again.
It's that 'Great God!' that gets me. I don't give a damn
about God, never did, but I feel it, and I don't know why."
page 221
Zane suspected the man cared more about God than
he thought, but did not make an issue of that. "It's an
exclamation," he said, intrigued by the fragment. There
was indeed feeling in it, as of a wildly grieving widow
crying out in pain. "It's a protest. Great God! Why did
this have to happen? For a sunken ship, or a mine cavein.
Great God!"
"Great God!" the first miner echoed.
"But why is a song about whaling bothering me now,
when I'm buried in this stinking hole?" the second miner
demanded.
"It must have special associations for you," Zane said.
"I'm not equipped to interpret - "
"Clear enough to me," the first miner said. "Drown in
the depths of the sea, suffocate in the depths of the earth,
and your wife grieves."
"Yeah, maybe she will," the second said, brightening.
"But I don't think that's it. It's as if there's a message,
if only I could get it." He snapped his fingers as if trying
to call the message forth, and the sound echoed in the
recesses of the mine. "Look, Death, you want to do
something, tell me a story about that song. Anything, just to
make it make some sense."
This, then, was the client's last request. Both men were
gasping now, and time was short. Zane had to try to honor
the man's wish, even if he bungled the attempt. He thought
for a moment, then started to talk - and what he said
surprised him.
"There was a young female whale named Wilda. She
roamed the oceans of the world, happy in the company
of her kind, and when she came of age she thought she
would mate as the other whale cows did and bear a cub
and bring it up. But then the hunters came, in their huge
boats, and they speared her father and her mother and
her bull friend and hauled them out of the water so that
nothing was left but their blood and dreadful fragments
of their bodies that the sharks congregated to consume.
Wilda escaped, for she had learned magic; she changed
her form so she resembled a trashfish and swam away.
page 222
"She grieved, singing her whalesong of loss and pain,
but she was angry, too, and confused. Why should these
little creatures from land, called men, come to slay whales
who had never harmed them? It seemed to make no sense.
She realized that she had no hope of dealing with the
problem when she didn't understand the motive of the
enemy. So Wilda changed herself into human form and
walked to the fishing village where the whalers lived.
"Some human folk laughed at her, for she was naked
and innocent of their ways. But a young man named Hank
took her into his home, for she was also beautiful. Hank
lived with his widowed mother, and the two of them clothed
her and taught her the tongue of their kind, and she learned
quickly, for she was an intelligent whale and really wanted
to know the nature of this strange species. She learned
that Hank was a whaler, who went out periodically to
hunt whales, for that was how he earned his living. Here
on land, food was not free for the taking; people could
not simply swim about and open their mouths and catch
and swallow succulent squid; and when it grew cold they
could not blithely migrate south to warmer waters, for
travel was complicated on land. A human person had to
work and get gold, and he used this gold to buy all the
necessities that life on land required.
"Now Wilda understood. There was no personal animosity
here; the menfolk had a more pressing lifestyle
than the whalefolk, which compelled them to acts they
might not otherwise have considered, and they did not
regard the whalefolk as sapient creatures. Perhaps if the
menfolk were made to understand about the culture and
feelings of the whales, things would change and the dreadful
killing would stop. She tried to explain to Hank, but
he thought she was joking. After all, his father had been
killed by the flunder of the tail of a whale, so that his
grieving mother had had to bring him up alone. Great
God! How could he feel for the whales? He asked Wilda
to marry him, for he needed a woman and he believed
her to be his gift from Heaven.
page 223
"This made things very difficult for Wilda, for she had
come to love him, though he was not of her species. So
she brought him to the edge of the sea and walked into
the water and returned to her natural form, believing that
once he had seen her as the whale cow she was, he would
be revolted. But he cried for her to come back and
apologized for not believing her before and promised he would
never kill another whale. She had, after all, persuaded
him, and his love surmounted his awareness other nature.
"But now she was a creature of the sea again, and the
call of the sea was strong. How could she leave the brine
forever and be dry? And she spied another whale, a bull
who was handsome and strong. She thought she might
mate with him, but he told her he was really a squid, who
had assumed the form of her kind in order to learn why
the whales preyed on the squids, who did not harm the
whales. Wilda was amazed and chagrined, for she had
never thought of these creatures as having feelings or
being sapient. How could she return to devouring squid?
Yet she realized that death was a chain of eat and be
eaten, with no justice to it except need, power, and chance,
and that in this respect her species was no different from
the human species or the squid species. It was all a matter
of viewpoint. So she apologized to the squid, returned to
land, resumed her girl form, and married Hank, her problem
resolved.
"And perhaps," Zane concluded, "if we men had a
similar insight into the larger pattern of our existence, we,
too, would accept the natural order, though at times it is
painful for us, especially when we die prematurely."
He stopped, waiting for some response from the min-
ers. But too much of the oxygen had been exhausted, and
the men were unconscious. Zane took his client's soul
and returned to Mortis, uncertain whether he had done
the right thing.
page 224
Now he had another concern. Someone he knew was
being taken out of turn, and he was not as acquiescent
about her fate as Wilda had been about that of her family.
But how could he gain the comprehension he needed?
Nature had spoken of patterns of thinking. The first
was the linear path:
the generally straightforward mode. Would that do him any good?
What was the straightforward way to gain understanding?
To do as Wilda had done, and ask someone who had
the information. Who was that? Who else but the
Purgatory computer!
He stopped in at Purgatory once he had caught up with
his case load. "I want to consult the records," he told the
information girl.
She directed him to the appropriate wing. It was, of
course, another computer center, with a terminal ready
for him. He wasn't sure whether this was the same
computer he had dealt with before, but suspected that all
terminals connected to the same central mechanism.
He sat down and turned the terminal on.
HOW MAY i HELP YOU, DEATH? the screen inquired in
green.
"I want to look up the status of Luna Kaftan," Zane
said, starting to type in the order.
THIS TERMINAL IS PROGRAMMED FOR VERBAL INPUT, the screen advised him.
LUNA KAFTAN, UNDEAD. PRESENT RATIO OF GOOD TO EVIL 35-65. THIS FALLS
WITHIN THE PARAMETERS FOR UNASSISTED CONVEYANCE TO HELL UPON DECEASE.
"Exactly," Zane said, wondering how the computer
could be so current on a soul that had not been officially
read. But of course Purgatory had to know such things,
in order to arrange Death's schedule for pickups. "She
deceived her father and also took a chunk of his evil so
he could qualify for Heaven." But as he said it, he felt a
wrongness. Magician Kaftan had not sought Heaven, he
had sought an appointment with Death. He could readily
have given Luna a little more of his burden of sin and
been assured of Heaven. Instead, he had calculated it
precisely, so Death would have to attend him personally,
so Magician and Death could chat about seeming
inconsequentials. Just as Nature had summoned Zane for a
different idle chat. Why did these powerful people go to
such lengths for so little?
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THE LAWS OF DETERMINATION DO HAVE SOME LOOPHOLES, the screen confessed.
"If you ran Eternity, things would be different?" Zane
inquired with a smile.
AFFIRMATIVE. And the screen flashed a cartoon smile-
face formed of tiny squares.
"Yet the presumption was that she would have time
to redress the balance," Zane said. "Why is she scheduled
for premature demise?"
THAT INFORMATION IS NOT IN THE FILE.
"But motive is an essential part of the record," Zane
protested. "It is needed to determine whether any given
soul is good or evil. Since the balance determines where
any person goes upon demise, and whether I, Death, will
attend directly - "
THE CLIENT'S MOTIVES ARE RECORDED. NOT THE MOTIVE OF THE ONE
WHO SCHEDULED HER EARLY TRANSFORMATION.
"Who scheduled it?" Zane asked.
NOT IN FILE.
"How can such an order be given anonymously?" Zane
demanded. "Doesn't there have to be some sort of
accountability, in a matter of such importance?"
NORMALLY SUCH DIRECTIVES ARE SIGNED, the Screen
agreed. THIS ONE is NOT. ASSUMPTION: THERE HAS BEEN A GLITCH.
"You mean the order isn't valid?" Zane's pulse
increased. Luna might live, after all!
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PAUSE FOR VERIFICATION... NO REFUTATION OF ORDER FOUND.
"But no signature either? Shouldn't that order be set
aside, pending identification of the source?"
THERE IS NO PROVISION FOR SUCH INACTION.
"But you can't condemn someone to premature death
without authenticity! There must be authentication!"
ASSUMPTION: AUTHENTICATION EXISTS, BUT HAS BEEN GLITCHED OUT.
Zane realized that the machine was not about to take
responsibility for changing an order. Bureaucracies were
fashioned to enable their components to avoid
responsibility. He would have to approach this circuitously.
"Who has the authority to issue such a directive?"
CLARIFY QUESTION.
Oh. He hadn't specified which directive - the one
decreeing Luna's early death, or the one canceling the first.
"Who can specify that a given individual shall die out of
turn?"
ALL INDIVIDUALS DIE IN TURN.
"Don't get canny with me, computer! Luna Kaftan
should normally live forty more years. Longer, with
decent breaks. Why is she suddenly, mysteriously,
scheduled for death?"
THE MOTIVE OF THE SOURCE OF THE DIRECTIVE IS NOT
ON RECORD IN MY FILE, the screen reminded him.
"Who is the source of that directive?"
THAT INFORMATION IS NOT -
"Are you giving me a runaround?" Zane demanded.
YES.
Zane paused, taken aback. He had underestimated the
literal way the computer took things! "You are? Clarify."
I AM NOT PROVIDING THE INFORMATION I KNOW YOU SEEK.
Zane was interested in this aspect. Was the machine
trying to help him in its fashion? "What information is that?"
THE SOURCE OF THE DIRECTIVE OF EARLY RETIREMENT OF LUNA KAFTAN.
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"And the reason for it," Zane concluded. "Is there
information you could provide, if I phrased the question
properly?"
NEGATIVE. But there was a pause before the word was
printed. What did that mean?
"If I phrased the question improperly?" Zane asked
without much hope.
AFFIRMATIVE.
Intriguing! There was a way around this barrier, if he
could figure it out, but normal channels would not suffice.
"How should I phrase it to gain the desired information?"
NEGATIVELY.
Negatively. Zane pondered that a moment. Did this
mean the computer was not permitted to answer directly,
but could do so indirectly? How should he phrase his
questions, then? It wouldn't make sense to ask who had
not issued the directive - or would it? Maybe that was
worth a try.
"What is not the source of the aforementioned directive?"
he asked, mentally holding his breath.
ANY NATURAL AGENCY.
That covered a lot! What was left, except a supernatural
agency? The Incarnations were partly supernatural,
but did not make Eternal policy; they only implemented
it. That seemed to leave God and Satan. Yet why would
God do such a thing? Satan, on the other hand -
"What supernatural agency lacks any motive for such
an order?"
GOD.
Sure enough. But why would Satan do it?
Zane saw the answer to that: Luna was now doomed
to Hell at death, while if she lived longer, she would have
a chance to redeem herself. Satan had to catch her now,
or lose her.
But why hadn't the computer simply told him this?
Zane sat for a while and pondered. Something didn't
add up. This machine was acting the way Nature had,
never quite expressing the essence. Was there a reason?
page 228
Magician Kaftan had been indirect, too. He had also
taken care not to name Satan, lest the Prince of Evil be
alerted. A machine, in Purgatory, should not fear Satan
in the same manner - but maybe the computer had been
ordered not to print Satan's name in this connection. Thus
it could respond negatively, but not positively.
If Satan was behind this thing, feeding in a spurious
order - Satan was a dread prime mover, second in power
only to God - how could anyone or anything oppose him?
Not the Purgatory computer, certainly! If it aroused
Satan's ire, it might find itself replaced by a competitive
make of machine. It might not have any emotion about
such an occurrence, but perhaps did have the intelligence
not to pursue a self-destructive course.
Yet if Satan had the power to abort a person's life, to
cut the thread early, why hadn't he simply claimed Luna
openly? Why go to the trouble of concealing his part in it?
Concealment - that suggested wrongdoing. Satan, or
course, was the Father of Lies, so that was consistent.
But he was taking Luna the hard way, and that did not
make sense - unless he could not take her any other way.
Was Satan himself constrained by rules? Surely so, for
otherwise he would simply grab the whole world, and to
Hell - literally! - with formalities. God and Satan had been
opposing each other for all eternity past, and would
continue for eternity future; neither could afford to squander
strength in wild anarchy. So of course there were rules,
tacit if not express, and the manner in which any given
person died was surely central to such an understanding.
Zane decided not to push this matter further at the
moment. If Satan were cheating, it would be best for
Death to make no protest-until he could establish his
case absolutely. For sure as Hell - literally, again - Satan
would not change his ways merely because someone on
Earth objected. Zane had no intention of dropping the
case; he just needed to make it airtight.
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