Sandcats of Rhyl (14 page)

“Slayton!” cried Steorra. “Don’t do this! I hired you to protect my father’s discovery. Don’t turn your back on the law now. Please, I beg of you — ”

“Hear that, Dhal? She’s begging me. I like that. But listen, you, I never let the law get in my way — not now, never. When it suits my purposes, fine, I’m all for it. But out here in the desert, a man makes his own law. With this!” He patted the stock of the blasterifle.

“I think,” Nightwind said to Steorra, “you are under some misconception about Slayton. Perhaps also about Heuser and me. You said you wanted Slayton to protect your father’s discovery. Everything makes better sense if your last name just happens to be Alfen.”

“It is.”

Nightwind sighed. “Heuser and I didn’t kill Dr. Alfen. He was already dead. But we did, umm, appropriate the notes and map. My friend and I were getting a little tired of working, and the mention of a big find was too much for us. Just like it was for Slayton, I see. Really, milady, never try appealing to a man’s better nature. You might discover people like Slayton have no better nature to appeal to.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It doesn’t really matter, Steorra. We’re both dead, compliments of Lane Slayton.”

Slayton mockingly bowed. He straightened, looking at the stunned sandcat. He examined the beast, then said, “I’m the son of a bloodbat! Dhal! Look at this, will you? The damned thing’s got hands! And fingers. They fold up just back of the front legs. Paws for running in the sand, hands for … what?”

Dhal said, “You don’t suppose they built all this?”

“Not hardly. They wouldn’t be stalking around out in the desert if they had. And the place would be crawling with them. All I’ve seen are the few we chased off. Not more than a dozen. But, you know, this gives me an idea. How long do you think our friends could last with this fine specimen of a sandcat?”

Dhal smiled evilly. “Be worth seeing, wouldn’t it? Let’s put them in that pit we saw outside and let the sandcat have at ‘em!”

At blaster point, Nightwind was forced to drag the unconscious sandcat to the pit. Dhal helped push the beast into the eight-meter-deep excavation. Finishing that, Nightwind had to bring Heuser out and drop his friend into the pit. But this time, the man’s muscles throbbed painfully. Just moving was torture.

“This looks promising,” said Slayton. “Into the arena with you.” He shoved and Steorra fluttered through the air to land heavily atop the sandcat. Another nudge in the back with the blasterifle and Nightwind followed. He managed to keep his feet under him. He landed, legs slightly bent. He took as much of the impact as he could, then rolled. He hit the side of the pit, momentarily knocking the breath from his lungs. Gasping, he could barely hear Slayton’s gloating voice.

“Aren’t they a real sight down there? Two weaklings, a helpless little girl and a big, strong sandcat that’ll be waking up any time now. And I’ll bet that ‘cat is going to be hungry. Real hungry.”

Nightwind pushed himself into a sitting position and surveyed the scene. It couldn’t have been much worse. Heuser was slowly moving, regaining consciousness in spite of the fall. But his, Nightwind’s and Steorra’s hands were all bound behind their backs with strong rope. And the pit was only about five meters square.

Nightwind didn’t kid himself. The situation wasn’t bad; it was close to hopeless.

Dhal’s voice came down to him, “Let’s go check out the fancy place back there, Lane. I’ve seen men torn apart before. I spent two years with Mad Shar’s Circus, remember. That guy could think of more ways of killing a man for the crowd’s enjoyment than any other living being. Why, once he actually put three men in a ring with a Schrecken fire lizard. It took one of them a week to die and that son of a bitch Shar charged full admission the entire week!”

“I’m certain Mad Shar left a lasting impression on you, Dhal. That’s one reason we get along so well. Your background and mine are, shall we say, similar. But I agree that, as much as I would like to see Nightwind in bloody strips, we should get on to the serious business of looting. So, clear skies, Nightwind. And I’ll see you in Hell!”

Laughing, Slayton and Dhal left.

When the sandcat began to stir, Nightwind didn’t have a very high estimate of his future survival.

“What do you think they found, Lane?”

Slayton looked at his companion, wondering how long he could maintain the fiction of being partners. It was possible Dhal would prove useful for some time and, if the treasure were great enough, it might not be necessary to kill him at all. Slayton could think of dozens of jobs Dhal was admirably suited for … executing.

“The only way to tell is to look for ourselves, stupid. This chamber with the fancy light show going on under the floor couldn’t be what they were after. My bet is that the good stuff is locked up in the room.”

He studied the black wood room standing in stark contrast to the ever-changing fluid flow of hues. The only reason for such a room had to be housing valuables. Nightwind had been inside; that meant this was the place to check first.

“We’d better keep a sharp eye out for the sandcats. We only killed a couple of them. Hey, where the hell
are
the bodies?”

Slayton stopped, realizing Dhal was right. The sandcats’ bodies were gone. The ashes of Richards’ body still blackened the floor, but no sandcat was to be seen. He quickly checked the location where he was certain one of the beasts had been slain. Running a finger over the floor produced a small amount of blood. It evaporated even as he felt it against his skin.

“They were here. Blood’s still fresh, such as it is. The ‘cats must have come in and moved their dead. Not like an animal. Do you suppose those things are intelligent?”

Slayton was talking more to himself than to Dhal. The question was rhetorical; it was certain the sandcats weren’t merely animals. Their actions were too well coordinated in attack, too swift, too organized. And now they had carried off their dead and wounded presumably for treatment or burial.

“Whatever it is, this explains why no one’s ever seen one of the creatures up close. One gets shot and by the time the hunter arrives, the other ‘cats have lugged off the body. And then they get the guy who did the shooting.”

Slayton nervously stroked up and down the cool length of his blasterifle. Dhal’s words were anything but comforting. He made it sound as if they were walking into a carefully planned trap, a scheme concocted by some genius felinoid beast.

“Go on. I’ll cover you from back here,” said Slayton.

“Now wait a minute! You want me to go barging in and risk my neck? No way! You have the heavy artillery. You go first!”

“Let’s check it out a little more before doing anything rash. I doubt there’s any trap waiting for us inside. Cats don’t do things like that.”

“Cats on other planets don’t, you mean. And these seem to care for their fallen friends. I’ve never seen any animal do that before. Hell, even humans leave their dead and wounded behind sometimes.”

Slayton’s finger nervously twitched on the trigger of his weapon. Irritated, he snapped, “There are plenty of creatures that pick up their dead after a battle. All sorts of insects do it. The hive-creatures of Eden do it; they eat the carcasses later.”

“And you think these big ‘cats are like those bugs? No way. These aren’t communal bugs. These are intelligent, man. Can’t you get that through your head?”

“So what should I do about it, turn around and go home? I came here to get rich. If you’re so damned scared all of a sudden, take off. Let me have all the treasure. I can spend it just as easy as you.”

Slayton knew Dhal wouldn’t turn around and walk out. And, deep down, he knew Dhal wouldn’t get fifty meters into the city. The sandcats were waiting outside. Only the one with the blasterifle was going to get out of the city alive — and rich.

“Let’s get on with it. This place is giving me the creepy-crawlies. I’m starting to jump at every shadow.”

Slayton laughed at Dhal. It provided an easy release of the nervous energy he felt building in his own system. He was on the verge of blasting wildly at every shifting color, every vagrant shadow dancing at the corners of his field of vision. By transferring a little of his nerves to Dhal, he was better able to remain calm.

“Laugh if you want,” Dhal mumbled. “We’ll settle scores when we get outside.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. Turning his attention to the black wood, he stroked his hand over it. “This is cold. Not cool — cold. The room must have a refrigerating unit inside.”

“Yeah,” Dhal said, his hand pressed against the intricately grained wood. “What do you suppose it means?”

“As much as the funny smell in the air or the floor. Maybe nothing. Aliens don’t have to build rooms for any reason that’d make sense to us. They might like cold on a hot world like this.”

A scraping noise caused them both to start. Spinning, their blasters were leveled at an empty room.

“I want to get this over with, Slayton. Now. My nerves are going to be shot if I keep hearing sandcats all around.”

Slayton pushed the door open with his foot, blasterifle poking into the room ahead of him. The only thing he could see was the elaborately carved ivory screen. The shadow patterns cast on the floor seemed alive, dancing with a sinuousness that belied their inanimate origins.

“Everything in this damned place seems to have a fake life to it. Do you see anything really alive inside?”

Dhal crouched down and looked left, then right. His blaster shook perceptibly. Slayton cursed under his breath. When the chips were down, he wasn’t sure he could rely on Dhal anymore. Not if the man was going to fall apart doing a simple job like entering a room. Ever since Nightwind had zinged him with the needlegun, Dhal’s nerves were more and more evident to Slayton.

“Well? See anything?” he repeated.

Dhal said, “Can’t tell. I don’t think there’s anything inside.”

“Damn fool! Look overhead!”

Dhal’s eyes snapped upward and studied the ceiling. His knuckles turned white, but the blaster didn’t fire. “Don’t see anything there, either. Damnit. Don’t scare me like that!”

“You scare all too easy. Always look up before you go into a room. More people have gotten themselves killed by neglecting that than I can remember.”

With more confidence than he felt, Slayton walked into the room. He kicked down the carved screen and, for the first time, both men saw the jeweled scepter on the altar.

Dhal gasped. But Slayton’s reaction was more pronounced. Just seeing the milky gems twisted something deep inside him. He felt the panorama of the ages blast through his consciousness. In less than a heartbeat, all his fears and hopes, all his passions and hatreds, were magnified a thousandfold. He became more than a mere human — he was a giant among men. More intelligent, stronger, deadlier. Anything he ever wanted was his for the taking. And the means was locked into the jeweled scepter.

Slayton’s finger almost set off the blaster beam that would have murdered Dhal when the man picked up the scepter. Only knowledge of the jeweled wand’s destruction kept back the torrential flood of raw, killing energy.

“This is about the wildest thing I’ve ever seen, Slayton. It’s worth a fortune! I know gems. I know ‘em like the back of my hand, and I’ve never seen anything like this anywhere. A fortune just in this!”

“Give me that!” Slayton’s anger faded to irritation. Dhal wasn’t going to harm the scepter. But it was obvious the gems brightly gleaming on its length didn’t affect the other man in the same ways it did Slayton.

Holding the scepter, he was barely aware of the blasterifle slipping from his grasp. It was no longer important. The vistas of his own mind were being opened, memories long buried returned in new perspective. He was seven years old, crying, his father cut and bleeding to death after refusing to sign a dictum of sovereignty to the baron. The tears evaporated as resolve hardened in his child’s body. The tears would never return. Others would cry, instead.

There was a thrill of retribution and … otherness … when he pulled the trigger on the small blaster. The baron’s two bodyguards died without uttering a sound. The baron tried to bluff, but the man soon knew deadly determination, even in one so young. The trigger activated the energy charge and the baron’s face vanished in a cataclysmic mixing of ions and fear.

Slayton felt the years race by. He had fled, living by his wits, killing when necessary. Many men found a youngster willing to murder an asset. By the time he was fourteen, he had murdered eighteen men and women. He momentarily relived each killing, felt a surge in his loins as every body collapsed, never to rise again. And, at fourteen, the turning point.

More vivid than reality, the Lieutenant of Deputies was saying, “The choice is yours, Slayton. You’re too young to execute; we’d rather recruit you. Join us in policing the frontier worlds. We might be able to make an honest man out of you.”

Slayton agreed and a series of “police actions” crashed into his consciousness. Each time he pulled a trigger and someone died, he felt a little stronger, a little more in control of a world beyond his comprehension.

The effect of the killings, the euphoria associated with each kill, built and filled him like a vessel filled with aromatic oils. He was approaching godhood. He was invincible. He held the power of life and death in his hands. No mere mortal could be so great!

Over and over, Slayton relived his life. Each time he ended holding the scepter and feeling stronger, more competent than ever before. The reliving of his life became a blinding light, a ball of pure white energy moving toward him, filling his entire field of vision. When the sphere exploded, Slayton felt his brain burn with inner fire. Unusual tensions were being released and new sensations were being experienced.

He roved the opening corridors of his mind, searching out old experiences and finding new abilities.

Slayton turned to Dhal and gazed at the man for a moment. How weak and impotent the mere-human seemed!

“Lane, you okay? Your eyes are glowing like one of those damned jewels. Say something!” Dhal backed away, his hand trembling even more than when he had entered the room.