his cynical moods, it struck him that randomly regenerating the pattern would be a great way to make some extra money. But somehow he didn't think Joey Bane was quite that desperate for funds…
Nick came to a dark opening on his right and paused, looked in. It was just a little cavelet, not much bigger than a walk-in closet, with a stone bench built into the black stone wall and going right around from one side to the other. The light from the burning cresset out in the main 'hallway' reached it only dimly. Nick had run into these in other parts of the 'anteroom chambers' over the past few hours, and often enough they were in places where you might hear something if you stayed there long enough. So he went in, and sat down, and spent a little while more just listening.
His head turned as, down the corridor, in the direction from which he had come, he heard voices, and the sound of soft footsteps approaching. At first Nick was torn, and thought about leaving… not sure I want to meet anybody right now… But he was also feeling a little lazy, and a little curious, especially as the voices got closer. One was a guy, one a girl, though her voice was not that light-it had a husky sound. So far he had tended to keep to himself in Deathworld, except for a few chance encounters such as that with Shade, but maybe it would be better to start putting aside that tendency down here.
Nick stayed where he was. 'Look, forget it,' said the soft husky voice. 'I'm not going to waste any more time arguing about it with you, either. I'm just going to find it, no matter how long it takes… '
Two shapes passed by the doorway, silhouetted against the cresset-light from the passage. One of them kept right on going, but the other paused to peer in, taking a moment about it, letting her eyes get used to the dark. She was about Nick's height, maybe a little younger than he was. It was hard to tell. He saw a long fall of blond hair, nearly waist length, stirring a little in the cool air running down the passageway behind her; she was dressed in light shorts and an 'infrablack' T-shirt that glowed slightly, even in this shadowy place, with the intensity of its darkness. She drew in breath sharply as she looked at him.
Nick blinked. 'Uh, sorry,' he said.
She looked at him for a moment more. Elsewhere it would have been an invasive stare, but in Deathworld you got familiar with it fairly quickly-the expression of someone trying to work out whether you were part of the game or not, and whether it was worth their while to stop to talk to you. Nick had to chuckle a little. 'I'm not local,' he said, that being one of the code phrases meant to indicate that you weren't a plant or a generated feature.
The girl looked at him a little less intently, but the expression was still curious. A moment later she was joined in the doorway by her companion. At first glance he looked like a football player-tall, big across the shoulders, brawny. The effect was increased by the fact that he was wearing a plaidh mhor, the so-called 'great kilt' which was just coming into style for guys at the moment. The kilt was patterned in infrablack and a very dark blue, the so-called 'Armstrong Hunting' plaid, and everything else about the guy's clothes matched, from shoes to the tied-on headband. He looked like her brother, or maybe an extremely well-matched boyfriend. 'Somebody you know?' he said.
'No,' Nick said, and 'No,' the girl said, in the same breath. Then the girl laughed.
'You waiting for somebody?' she said.
'Besides Joey? Nope,' said Nick. 'Nobody here right now but us chickens.'
The guy looked at him like he was, from Mars. The girl looked oddly at him, too, but then she laughed. 'I thought my mom was the only person on earth to say that anymore,' she said. 'Suddenly I don't feel quite so weird.'
The two of them glanced around them. Nick knew why. 'No booby traps in here,' he said. 'It's a quiet spot.'
'We should go-' the guy said.
'Why?' said the girl, sounding annoyed. 'We haven't found anything. And we're not going to, not today, not before our nickel runs out, anyway… '
'You're looking for-?' Nick said.
'The Maze,' said the guy. 'Like everyone else down here.'
'Among other things,' the girl muttered. She sighed. 'You mind if we sit down?'
Nick moved down on the bench a little. They came into the chamber and sat down, looking around the way people do when they're suddenly in a small space with someone they don't know.
'Thanks,' the girl said. 'Sometimes the quiet down here gets to me.' She sighed. 'Tires me out, a little… ' Then she gave him a slightly embarrassed look. 'Sorry,' she said. 'I'm Khasm.'
'Nick,' he said, nodding to her.
'I'm Spile,' said the guy.
'Pleased,' Nick said. To Khasm he said, 'I know what you mean, though. It's a lot quieter down here than up in the top levels. Not quite so much of the screams and yells of the tormented.'
Khasm laughed, a very brief sound, not all that humorous. 'No need,' she said. 'We're the torment, walking around, doing what we want, saying what we like… and there's nothing they can do about it.' She glanced at the wall, out of which here and there a face looked, frozen in stone, the only thing alive about them their eyes, which watched, watched everything.
Nick thought about what Khasm had said. Somewhere, once, he had read someone's opinion about life: Hell is other people. Maybe this was the same principle. 'I wouldn't bet on them not being able to do anything,' he said. 'One of them bit me a little while ago.'
'Hope you got your shots,' Spile said, and grinned, also a rather mirthless expression. 'You find any lifts around here?'
'Not close,' Nick said. 'The last one was about, oh, half a mile back that way.' He pointed off to his left and behind him. 'Or up a little… or down a little. You know how this place twists.'
'What was it you found?' said the guy, fiddling with his plaid as if he wanted to get going again.
'Uh, 'Down the Narrow Ways.' '
The girl's eyes went wide. Nick could see it clearly even in this light. 'You did? Where?'
Her intensity, and the almost anguished sound of her voice, surprised him. Sure, there were a lot of people who got really worked up about Bane's music… but so far Nick hadn't met any of them. 'Uh, if you're really looking for it, I can show you. It's not too far, unless the corridors have reconfigured themselves.'
'It's not for me,' Khasm said. Nick suddenly noticed how tightly her fingers were laced together. 'I have… I had a friend who was looking for it.'
The sudden 'had' came down in the middle of the sentence like a boot stamping on something. The hair stood up on the back of Nick's neck. 'You…' He stopped, unused to being so certain about something, and uncertain just how to proceed. After a moment he said, much more softly, 'You knew one of them. One of the Angels of the Pit.'
'I hate that name,' growled Spile, staring at the floor.
'Two of them,' said Khasm, sounding bleak. 'Or anyway, I knew Jeannie Metz. She lived down the street from me. We went to the same school. We were buddies.' She looked over at Spile. 'He and Mal Dwyer played virtual football together.'
Nick didn't know what to say. But at the same time he was shocked into a sudden alertness that surprised him. This was more than just some story that would help you find your way to the Maze. This was real.
He couldn't keep himself from asking. 'What made them do it?' he said softly.
Spile turned his head away, wouldn't say anything. 'I don't know,' said Khasm, angry. 'I know this, though. She wasn't suicidal.'
Nick wasn't going to say anything.
'I know what you're thinking!' Khasm burst out. 'That nobody knows anybody as well as they think they do, and all that crap. I've had it up to here with hearing that, the last week! From everybody. Even her mom. She of all people should know better… but she really doesn't know her, either, it turns out. Not if she seriously thinks Jeannie did any drugs.'
Nick opened his mouth, closed it. 'Oh, yeah,' Khasm said, 'it wasn't in the news. The cops said they were doing her family a favor by not letting it get out… said it was tragic enough.' She scowled. 'But they told her family that, all right. Some favor.'
'They claim,' said Spile, looking up at last, 'that it was one of these 'amnesia' drugs. Real convenient.' He shook his head fiercely. 'And now both the families are blaming each other's kid for getting the other one to kill themselves. Real neat.' He glared at Nick. 'Mal was the most normal, geekly guy you ever saw. Terrified of doing
