Free A Dark and Hungry God Arises by Stephen R. Donaldson Page A

from dying of boredom?'
    One of the guards smiled to show that he had no teeth: they'd been rotted away by nic or hype. The other remarked, 'As long as we think we might get to shoot you, we're happy. '
    Nick shrugged. 'Sorry to disappoint you. You can't shoot me now - the Bill wants to talk to me. And once we do that he'll realize that keeping me alive is more important than you are. '
    'You have to pay him first, ' the guard with no teeth chuckled, 'and you ain't got no credit. '
    'Don't worry about it, ' Nick sneered cheerfully, trying to diffuse the tension which tightened around his chest as the car descended. 'Some things are more valuable than credit - although a BR like you probably can't understand that. '
    What do you think?' the second guard asked the first.
    'I think he's trying to insult us. '
    'Don't think, ' Nick advised. 'You'll get confused. '
    Involuntarily, despite his air of confidence, he held his breath as the lift sighed to a stop.
    Another access passage. More guards. Nick hardly noticed them. The mass of rock piled above him had never felt so heavy. It seemed to lean down on him, making his shoulders sag and his step falter in spite of the light g. Until his jaws began to ache, he didn't realize that he was grinding his teeth.
    He needed energy now; needed his wits and his superiority. The problems he'd left behind aboard Captain's Fancy could be ignored temporarily. Another victory or two would restore his crew's confidence in him. Eventually he would discover who had betrayed him. But the problems ahead could kill him in a matter of minutes. If he didn't measure up to his reputation, he was finished now.
    Do you think I'm done with you, Morn? he asked the echoing corridor. Do you think I've finished hurting you?
    You're out of your mind. I haven't started yet.
    That came first, before he tried betraying the cops.
    Straightening his shoulders, he walked the last meters to the strongroom which served as the Bill's personal command center, and grinned sardonically at the door-guard.
    Unlike Nick's escort, this individual cradled his beam gun in his hands. He didn't appear normal, however.
    Except for his mouth, most of his face had been covered or replaced by scanning equipment. Red and amber lights winked cryptically at his temples. The Bill didn't entrust his own security to the bugeyes - the optical monitors and listening devices - which scrutinized, and reported on all the rest of Billingate.
    On the wall over the door was a sign that read: I'M THE BILL YOU OWE.
    IF YOU DON'T PAY ME,
    YOU DON'T LEAVE.

    Apparently none of the guards needed to announce Nick aloud. Their transmitters did the job inaudibly. After a moment's consultation, the scan-guard keyed the door and admitted Nick to the strongroom.
    His escort stayed behind. He did his best to saunter inside without them like a man who owed nothing.
    The room was large enough to be a cargo hold. The Bill liked to have space about him, perhaps to counteract the claustrophobic depth of his covert. The flat surrounding walls were featureless, however. In fact, they were barely lit. Most of the illumination came from a set of ceiling spots which focused down on the Bill himself.
    If recent events disturbed him, he didn't show it. Alone in his command center, he stood encircled by a neat ring of computer stations, gleaming under the spots: boards, terminals, screens and readouts which, presumably, kept him in contact with every part of Billingate. The grotesque length of his head was mimicked by the rest of his body: he was insatiably thin. Stark in the light, he looked hungry enough to suck the marrow from Nick's bones.
    Shadows filled the hollows of his cheeks. Arms like sticks supported hands with fingers as sharp and narrow as styluses. Under his dirty hair and glittering eyes, his lipless smile exposed his keen, crooked teeth.
    As if in welcome, his spread his arms. 'Captain Nick, '
    he said in his incongruously boyish voice. 'How nice to see you.