A Dark and Hungry God Arises (8 page)

'Right, " she acknowledged.

At the control panel, Nick checked the airlock, then hit the sequence to open the doors. His hands did everything abruptly, as if he were eager - or afraid.

As soon as he entered the lock and closed the doors, an indicator told him that Mikka had sealed the ship.

Reaching to key the outer door, he heard Sib Mackern over the intercom. 'Nick?'

Nick thumbed the toggle. 'What?'

'I've got alternative id on Soar. The ship that picked up Davies. It's tentative - you might call it hypothetical

- but I thought you would want to know. '

Nick dismissed the suggestion. Tell me later. I haven't got time now. ' He was in a hurry. The timer was running on his last half hour before the Amnion arrived and began throwing their weight around.

He silenced the intercom; opened Captain's Fancy's outer door.

It was like being back on Enablement. Billingate's airlock stood open, admitting him to the scan field passage which would search him for weapons or contaminants.

And at the end of the passage, two guards waited. The only significant difference was that these guards were purportedly human - and they already had their guns trained on him.

Both of them looked like their doctors had forgotten

- or never known - the distinction between bio-prosthetic and bio-retributive surgery.

Nick was accustomed to such sights, but they still filled him with contempt. Any man who couldn't shoot straight unless his gun was built into his arm, or couldn't decide when to shoot unless Operations radioed orders directly into his brain, was something less than human, no matter how much he thought he'd been enhanced.

But the doctors hadn't stopped there. In addition to prosthetic firearms and transmitters, both guards had optical monitors where one or the other of their eyes should have been. They were machines, nothing more: pieces of equipment pretending to be human. For recreation, Nick thought mordantly, they probably stuck their fingers in power receptacles.

'Captain Succorso?' one of them asked as if his vocal cords had been replaced by a speaker.

Nick grinned maliciously. Who were you expecting?

Warden Dios?' Striding between the guards, he said, 'I'm going to see the Bill. Be good boys and stay here. Make sure nobody steals my ship. '

He knew the way; but the guards didn't let him find it for himself. After a momentary hesitation while they listened to orders from Operations, they came after him, bounding against the rock's g until they caught up with him. One at each shoulder, they steered him along the access passages into the reception area for the visitors'

docks.

In Reception they passed more guards, as well as data terminals which would have enabled Nick to secure lodg-ings, establish local credit, hire women off the cruise, or prepare id verification through finger- or voice-print. He had no interest in those amenities, however. Moving at a pace that made him bounce from stride to stride, he half led, half accompanied his escort toward the nearest lift which ran down into the core of the rock; to the depths where the Bill had hived his lair.

Down there, a thousand meters of stone, concrete and steel kept the Bill and his profits safe from any attack short of a prolonged super-light proton barrage. Calm Horizons and Tranquil Hegemony could probably dig him out, but only by blazing away at Thanatos Minor until the entire surface was slagged and the reactor in the heart of the rock reached meltdown temperatures.

The Bill may have been as larcenous and uncaring as a billygoat; but he was smart enough to be afraid. Otherwise he wouldn't live down here — and Nick's credit-jack would be good.

The ride down in the lift made Nick wish he carried a transmitter that could reach Captain's Fancy. But here even the kind of nerve-beepers he used routinely in places like Com-Mine Station were worse than useless: they didn't function, but they did arouse suspicion.

On either side, the guards kept their guns aimed at his ribs as if they expected him to do something crazy at any moment.

'So how's business?' he asked as if he wanted to start a conversation. 'Do you clowns get enough activity around here to keep you 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. You haven't been away all that long - not as long as some - but it's always a pleasure when you visit.

'I gather you've led an interesting life recently. It isn't every day that you arrive here escorted' - he relished the irony of the word - 'by Amnion defensives. You must tell me all about it sometime.

'But not now, ' he added quickly, like a solicitous host.

'I know how busy you must be. For the present, tell me how I can serve you. Somewhere here, we have' - he made a gesture which seemed to encompass the galaxy —

'everything you can pay for. '

Nick was in no mood for blather. Nevertheless his ship

- as well as his life - depended on his ability to match the Bill. Deliberately casual, he remarked, That depends on how much money I've got. I have a credit-jack' - Nick named the sum - 'but Operations tells me you won't honor it. That limits my options. '

'"Won't, "' Captain Nick?' the Bill put in promptly.

'Surely Operations didn't say "won't"?'

Nick tried to grin with his old, dangerous amusement.

'Maybe I've missed something. I requested a shipyard berth. They docked me with the visitors. ' A little of his anger leaked into his voice, but he kept it quiet. 'And they told me my credit-jack has been revoked. Doesn't that mean "won't"?'

'Not at all, not at all. ' Whenever the Bill moved his head, the light made his face look like it was being eaten by shadows. 'It simply means the situation has become delicate. The "issuing authority" of that credit-jack has

"instructed" us not to honor it. ' Apparently the Bill enjoyed euphemisms. This is not strictly - shall we say, not strictly legal? If it were, no one would ever pay me for anything. Men in your position - not you, of course, Captain Nick, certainly not, but men with fewer scruples

- would give me credit for goods or services, and then after they were gone they would simply "revoke" my remuneration.

'I don't do business that way. I'm the Bill you owe, Captain Nick. ' Behind his light, enthusiastic tone, he was fatally serious. 'That means I get paid first — and I make sure the money is good before I accept it. If I accept your credit-jack, you can be certain the Amnion will honor it. '

'Fine, ' Nick said, 'good. ' His poise was fraying. He would have loved to hit the Bill a few times and hear those thin bones snap. 'How do we get there from here?

I need repairs. I have a credit-jack to pay for them. But you're suspicious. Now what?'

'Simplicity itself. ' The Bill smiled so that his teeth shone. 'Ask the Amnion to rescind their instructions. As soon as they inform me that they no longer object to our transactions, your credit will be good, and I'll provide repairs which will satisfy you completely. '

Without realizing it, Nick had tightened his shoulders, clenched his fists. By an act of will, he uncurled his fingers. But he couldn't undo the knots in his voice as he said, 'I can't do that. It's up to you, not me. You have something that belongs to me. It's something I've already promised to them - payment for services rendered. As long as you have that, I can't satisfy them. And as long as I can't satisfy them, they're going to be a threat to all of us. They may decide to just take my property away from you. '

Smoothly the Bill said, 'I may decide to "just" give it. '

'And if you do, ' Nick countered, "you'll be cheating me. ' He stifled a need to brandish his fists. 'I may not look like very dangerous right now, but I can do your reputation a lot of damage. Ships will stay away when they hear you've started cheating.

'No, ' he continued harshly, 'the really simple solution is for you to give me what's mine. I'll pay your costs, of course - and a salvage fee. Then I can satisfy the Amnion, and we'll all get what we want in the end. '

The Bill shook his long head. 'I'm afraid that's a little too simple. ' Boyish high spirits seemed to bubble in the background as he spoke. 'Just as an example of the complexities you've neglected - salvage fees depend on the value of the goods salvaged. You're asking me to surrender those goods, but you haven't told me what they're worth. '

Nick swallowed a curse. They haven't got any value to me at all. The Amnion want them, I don't. And I can't explain the Amnion to you. I don't know why they think that brat is so precious. ' I don't even know whether it's really him they want. I don't know which one of us they were trying to kill in the gap. A bit lamely, he added,

'You could ask them to set the fee. '

'My dear Captain Nick, ' replied the Bill with cadaverous amusement, 'I've already done that. They decline to place a value on your "property". Indeed, they decline to solve any of your problems for you. If I understand them rightly, they insist that the sole, or at least the only relevant, issue here is "the mutual satisfaction of requirements". They feel that they've bargained with you in good faith, and that you've cheated them. This they consider intolerable. They insist on restitution, pure and simple. '

Nick clenched his teeth for a moment. Then he took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh, and said as if he were admitting defeat, 'So I'm stuck. You won't return the contents of that ejection pod. And you won't accept my money. That doesn't leave me very many options. ' Are you ready for this, Morn? It might work. Can you stand it? 'I guess I'll have to offer you something else. '

The Bill beamed. 'Naturally I'm interested - although I can't imagine what you have that would be worth more than money. '

'Try this. ' Nick glanced around the dark corners of the strongroom as if to ensure that no one else could hear him. Then he moved closer to the Bill. Billingate's g made him feel light: what he was about to do made him feel light-headed. When he came up against the nearest of the Bill's computer stations, he stopped. In a quiet, conspiratorial tone, he said, 'I'll trade you. You give me the kid you found in that pod. I'll give you a UMCP

ensign, complete with id tag. '