Sandcats of Rhyl (17 page)

The Guardian rolled back over, getting its paws under its body. Looking Nightwind squarely in the eyes, the tattered thought came:
Wand of Command … after centuries … evil slavery … never … unable resist.

Heuser came over and stood by Nightwind’s shoulder. “What’s wrong with our, uh, friend, Rod? He looked like he’s gotten enough happy dust to keep a planet buzzing for a week.”

“I don’t know. I’m getting a garbled train of thought. Something happened that I don’t understand. After the little pleasure high, it started rattling on about slavery and I think it was ‘Wand of Command’ although I couldn’t catch all of it.”

“Slavery? I wouldn’t think any creature that large would have to worry about being made a slave. Not unless the slave master was a lot nastier. It looks like the kind of creature who can take care of itself.”

“Not necessarily,” said Steorra. “The sandcats are obviously telepathic and communicate mind to mind. No ears, no real vocal cords. That means they neither hear nor speak. The only way of communicating would be visual or mental. What happens if the race that built this entire city had some method of applying a mental pressure on the sandcats?”

Nightwind looked at Heuser, then to Steorra. “You might have hit on it. And I think I know what this ‘Wand of Command’ is. We saw it on an altar inside the palace. And I’ll bet a credit against any planet you care to wager that Slayton is taking over using it.”

“Wait, wait, Rod. I’m getting lost. Slayton is using the scepter to mentally enslave the sandcats, right? How? Even with a monster of a telepathic amplifier, it’s simply not that easy to bend one creature to your will, much less dozens. The old wars and their brainwashing showed that. Anyone cracks, but it takes a lot of time and effort if you resist.”

Steorra said, “Yes, that’s true, but after a person cracks, it’s easier getting him to crack again, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but what’s that …”

“Of course,” said Nightwind. “I see what Steorra means. The original rulers of this planet, the one who built this city, subjugated the sandcats. That makes the ‘cats vulnerable to the same type of attack — enslavement — again. Slayton doesn’t have to be all that strong mentally. He is just breaking down thin barriers recently built up. The sandcats might have a long history of enslavement by this other race.”

“So ask your friend,” said Steorra.

Nightwind turned and looked into the Guardian’s eyes. The amber orbs glowed with intense inner light. The man formed the question in his own mind as carefully as he could.

The answer flashed back:
Rulers total command using wands … many thousands of years … sun growing hotter … dying … built Ancient Place … not sandcats … multiplying … stronger as Rulers die…

Nightwind shook his head. The pain inside his skull could have been caused by some sadistic fiend with a red-hot poker jabbing it into his eyeballs. The struggle to maintain the mental contact was great, almost too great a gulf to bridge. But he had to try. It was the only way of getting information.

All dead … back now human … defiling sacred Ancient Place … must obey … no … no … no!

Nightwind was breathing heavily from the mental exertion. He wiped away the perspiration
from
his forehead, dabbed at the sweat beading on his upper lip and thought of Richards. The desert dweller would be horrified at the idea of wasting precious liquid like this. But it couldn’t be helped. The equipment needed to salvage the water was outside Devil’s Fang in their aircar. It might as well have been a thousand light years distant due to their predicament.

“Well?” demanded Steorra. “What was he saying?”

Nightwind heaved a big sigh, then said, “I’m slowly getting a picture of what’s happened. The Rulers built this city, the Ancient Place the Guardian calls it. They ruled using the scepter to enforce their commands, but when the sun began to heat up the planet, they couldn’t adapt as well as the sandcats. Or maybe the ‘cats were basically desert creatures and the Rulers weren’t. Anyhow, the Rulers slowly died out. This was their last city. The sandcats seem to regard it as a religious shrine, a living page out of their history, or even a museum. The distinction isn’t too clear. It might be a combination of all of those — or none.”

“And Slayton’s taken over using the scepter,” said Heuser. “You might have guessed a backstabber like him would finally graduate to the big time. An entire race — an intelligent race — enslaved.” He looked at Steorra as if blaming her for the problem.

“Now look, you two,” she said. “If it hadn’t been for you two trying to steal all the credit for discovery from my father, I wouldn’t have had to hire Slayton and Dhal.”

“We were just interested in a little, shall we say, lucrative remuneration for the salvage job we did in space. That tub was glowing blue, it was so hot with radiation. Your father might have still been alive, though, and we were the ones who risked life and limb to check. So why shouldn’t we get something out ot it?”

“You got the half the salvage.”

“Which didn’t go far. We knew what was found on Sigma Draconis. And if a ‘find utterly beyond belief’ is mentioned by a guy who explored Sigma, then it’s open territory for us since he’s dead.”

“This is an archeological find. It belongs to everyone in the galaxy, not just … a pair of grave robbers!” she flared.

Nightwind sighed. “So what are archeologists but legitimate grave robbers? It strikes me as damned ghoulish going around making a living off ripping into somebody else’s grave. But you want to know something? You father never found this city.”

“What?”

“Let me check with our furry friend. I think we were the first ones to get into the Ancient Place.” He smiled wryly, saying, “I might as well use the name the sandcats give this place since the entire city is theirs.”

Nightwind concentrated, carefully forming the proper thoughts.

You first to enter … others never … Watcher good … kill … I Guardian must kill now … enter Ancient Place … defile … duty given by Old Ones.

“Yeah,” he said, “Heuser, Richards and I were the first humans to ever get in. Seems like a series of mistakes all added up to a positive stroke of luck.”

“But what was my father’s discovery?”

“Another intelligent race, of course,” said Heuser in a burst of insight. “Somehow, he figured out the sandcats were intelligent, maybe even telepathic. He didn’t put it down because he was afraid of possible exploitation before the Council could rule. It’s happened before. An intelligent nonhumanoid race is discovered, then virtually destroyed before the Council gets off their fat asses to declare equal status.”

“But the city…”

“That was our mistake and our good fortune. Your father didn’t know it existed. Neither did we, but we weren’t looking for an intelligent race still running around. We were hunting for something worth a couple credits. And where do you look for buried treasure?”

“Underground,” supplied Heuser.

“Right. Underground. So we looked and we found the Ancient Place. We were too stupid to realize this was merely a fraction of the true value of Rhyl. The sandcats have to be granted full intelligent alien rights or knaves like us will continue to come in and take advantage of them.”

“They’ve done all right up till now,” commented Heuser dryly.

“But how long would they last if the word got out this … Ancient Place existed?” demanded Steorra. “Nightwind’s right. We’ve got to bring their case before the Council. That’s the only way they can preserve their race and their cultural heritage.”

“You’re forgetting one minor thing,” said Heuser. “We’re trapped in a pit. We can’t get out to save anyone. We can’t even save ourselves at the moment. And Slayton isn’t likely to have a change of heart.”

Steorra pursed her lips for a moment, then bit down hard enough on her knuckle that Nightwind thought she would draw blood. Suddenly, she said, “Nightwind! Talk to the Guardian. Ask him if he can communicate with the other sandcats. They could get us out. Toss us a rope, do something!”

“It’ll be a thought,” he said grinning. He formulated the request and carefully insinuated it into the sandcat’s mind.

Under compulsion … like when Rulers live … no talk with other … turned against me … but not you … mistake made … think you die … you safe … not me.

“So much for that. He says the other ‘cats have turned against him. Slayton seems to have shut off its mental rapport with the scepter.”

“If we can’t get out right this minute, why not find out more about his culture? It’ll prove invaluable when we take the case to the Council. We can point out all the specifics, then.”

“Steorra, you amaze me. You’re worrying about the Council fifty-eight light years distant, and you should be worrying how to climb up those eight meters, a mere 266 light microseconds. But, okay, why not? We don’t have anything else to do at the moment.”

The questions were posed and the indistinct, fluttering thoughts trickled into Nightwind’s consciousness.

Underground … city powered sunlight … grow eat … tame cattle … work with hands … many devices … some left by Rulers … some ours … Rulers reptilian … sun heat blood heat die … not so sandcats … not need much water … live … prosper … avoid humans … desecrate Ancient Place … never find in underground city … till now … Guardian fails.

“You won’t fail. We’ll help you.” Nightwind leaned against the wall, growing ever weaker due to the strain of the mental link.

“And who was it who was just telling me not to worry about the Council? Who is it promising to help him?” Steorra stood, her hands on hips, smiling. “I don’t think you’re such a bad guy, after all.”

“Damn. There goes my cover,” Nightwind said sardonically. “You’re about the only one who doesn’t think so.”

“Phase off, you two. I have a brainstorm which might get us out of here if the Guardian is strong enough. He sure looks it, at any rate. And you’d asked him if he was strong enough to support a couple of us.”

“Let me ask again to be sure.” To the Guardian, Nightwind said, “How are you feeling now?”

To kill … good!

“I think he’s ready to blast off any time we want. Are you thinking what I am, Heuser?”

“Yeah. The Guardian leans against the wall as high up as he can. I get up on his shoulders, such as they are. Steorra climbs up until I can toss her up and over the rim of the pit. Since she’s the lightest, she stands the best chance of making it. I know I couldn’t toss you any two or three meters straight up.”

Nightwind looked at the rim of the pit. It might as well have been infinitely far away. It was a miracle they hadn’t been killed being tossed into the hole. He shrugged in resignation.

“I can’t think of anything better. So let’s do it.”

He sat and concentrated. Soon, he had conveyed to the sandcat the salient points of their big escape plan. The animal was skeptical, almost fatalistic telling Nightwind it no longer mattered. With Slayton in control, all was lost. But the Guardian would try. It was duty placed by the Old Ones. It was unthinkable that any member of the race would attempt to shirk duty.

“Okay, gang, this is it. Let’s make the pyramid or whatever you want to call it and give ‘er a try!”

The Guardian placed powerful legs against the wall a little less than two meters up the wall. Heuser, for all his diminutive form, was extremely heavy. Nightwind would never have been able to support the small man’s mass. Even the Guardian struggled to hold Heuser’s artificially augmented body.

“Come on up, Steorra,” Heuser said, eyeing the last four or five meters to the top.

She scrambled up the Guardian’s back with Nightwind’s aid, then continued up until she was standing on Heuser’s shoulders. The sandcat’s huge frame shook with strain. Injured, bearing more weight than normal, everything depended on its maintaining the position for a few seconds longer.

“Can you do it, Guardian?” Nightwind asked.

Yes…

Nightwind helped take as much of the weight off the sandcat as possible while Heuser prepared for the final effort.

“Here goes!” he grunted.

Nightwind looked up in time to see Heuser grip Steorra under the heels, bend his arms, then with the force of a catapult, hurl her straight up into the air.

Then he was buried under the mass of both the sandcat and Heuser. The Guardian’s strength had fled like the sand in a storm. Panting, the animal looked at him, apology in its eyes.

“That’s okay. You did the best you could.” Then Nightwind noticed Steorra wasn’t in the pit with them.

“She made it!” he yelled. “She made it!”

High overhead stood the woman. Calling down, she said, “I’ve found a rope but no place to tie it. I … I think I might be able to hold it if I dig in my heels.”

“Try it,” shouted Nightwind.

The next few minutes were torture for him. He climbed as fast as he could, but there was no mistaking how the rope was slipping under his fingers. Steorra’s strength was ebbing fast. He used every bit of his agility to make it up the rope in record time. The rope went slack just as he reached the rim of the pit. Hanging by one hand, he swung back and forth until he could raise the other hand. Then, with a convulsive constriction of his muscles, he heaved. And dropped flat on the golden pavement beside Steorra.

“Oh, Rod, you made it! I was so sure I couldn’t hold on long enough!”

He looked up, panting. “You did just fine.” He saw the rope-burned hands and the strained look on her face. “Let’s not force our friends to stay in that hole in the ground.” Seeing the panic in her face, knowing she couldn’t possibly support Heuser’s greater weight when she had had trouble with his, Nightwind said, “Just back me up. I think I can get Heuser up.”

And he did.

The trio stood on the lip of the pit looking down at the sandcat. Dull amber eyes stared up, neither pleading nor defiant. The tattered thought came:
Up? … leave?…

“What about it, Heuser? You’re the muscle man.”

“A couple hundred kilos? Child’s play. Turn out a double bowline knot so our friend can ride up in style, if not comfort.”

Nightwind quickly made the knot, leaving plenty of space, then tossed the end over, yelling, “Put your front legs through one loop and your back through the other.”