Sandcats of Rhyl (6 page)

Nightwind looked at the man and saw an expression of fear and loathing cross his face. On impulse, Nightwind said, “The chameleon plants get by. And you mentioned sandcats in this part of the country. How do they survive the wind?”

Richards turned a pasty white under his weathered skin. In a voice curiously childlike, he said, “The sandcats? Damned ‘cats manage out there. Filthy murderers. They kill anybody they catch out there. If the desert doesn’t do us in, the ‘cats will.”

He began stroking back and forth along the handle of his blaster. As his knuckles turned white from the strain of gripping his weapon, Richards said in a voice almost drowned out by the whistling wind, “They killed my father. They killed him like some … wet-worlder!”

The lightning ripped apart the veiling clouds of dust only to have the claps of thunder smothered by the howl of the wind. Tiny fists of dust hammered at the large beast. It took no notice. The two-hundred-kilometer-per-hour wind didn’t slow its firm tread as it padded closer to the glowing dome of the grounded aircar.

The sandcat blinked multi-lidded eyes. Thick, transparent membrane protected the delicate optical orb and prevented dust from obscuring vision. The twinkling of the force field was an affront to the two-and-a-half-meter-long sandcat. A growl formed deep in its throat, a growl inaudible in the screaming gusts. Crossing its paws in front, the sandcat lowered its bulk, placing a feline chin on top. Dust piled up beside the animal. It didn’t notice. Its attention was focused on the human encampment fifty meters distant. Faint tendrils of thought tickled, feather-light, against the creature’s consciousness. Concentration. Pursuit of the elusive thought. Failure.

The sandcat wondered at this new manifestation. The few aliens intrepid enough to venture this far into the desert had never caused such unease in the Watcher. This was a different sensation. The gossamer thread tickling its brain was unique, not sandcat, but certainly not normal alien, either.

The Watcher rose, shook off the sand heaped over its back, then trotted off untroubled by the dust storm. In less than a thousand paces, the sandcat arrived at another glittering force barrier. Again the careful surveillance. This alien structure followed the pattern long since established. No nudging at the mind, no indication of true intelligence.

Satisfied with its observations, the Watcher left the two force fields and continued through the storm, patroling, watching, reporting.

But the disturbing hint of true thought would merit attention in the future.

CROUCHED INSIDE THE darkened force dome, listening to the wind howling loudly, Nightwind motioned to Heuser. Richards slept quietly, the faint sounds of his deep breathing obliterated by the gale-force wind. Heuser nodded, silently moved through the cabin and slipped into the seat beside his friend.

“Is he asleep, Heuser?” Nightwind wasn’t able to see as well inside the gloomy cabin as his companion. The infrared extension of the cyborg’s eyes would prove useful again.

“Yeah. I can make out the jerky motions in his eyelids. REM sleep. And if he can sleep with that infernal dust storm yowling outside, he could sleep through an atomic explosion.”

“Good. Have you been watching how he works the aircar?” Nightwind felt rather than actually saw the positive response. He continued, “I’m going to do a little plotting of my own on the computer. I want to see if he’s leading us a merry chase or if we’re heading straight for Devil’s Fang.”

“What’s wrong? Don’t you trust the old codger? He seems like a straight enough tracking character to me. A bit eccentric but, hell, living on this planet would drive anyone a little off their bearings.”

“While I was out looking at the native flora, I saw another aircar following us. It could have been tracking us in any of a dozen ways. Since it had its own force screen up, I suspect it was either tracking by magnetic field distortion or the radiation leakage from our engine.”

“Slayton and company?”

Nightwind nodded, knowing the cyborg could see him clearly. He envied the man his ability to see in the dark. Even though he was part cat by heredity, his night vision was only slightly better than a normal human’s. But then, he didn’t envy the tragic accident crushing Heuser’s arms and legs, breaking his spine and damaging his optic nerves. Nightwind would settle for only slightly better than normal vision and strength rather than being rebuilt from the soles of the feet on up. Even if this wasn’t very far in Heuser’s case.

“They would have passed us if they knew where we were going,” observed Heuser. “They couldn’t possibly know about Dr. Alfen’s discovery. What put them on the trail?”

Nightwind’s mind was racing. Finally, he quietly said, “It’s the girl. She’s mixed up with those two, but she’s certainly not in their league. A babe in arms compared to Slayton.”

“And Dhal’s not exactly the kind of guy you’d shake hands with unless you counted your fingers afterward,” said Heuser.

“The obvious conclusion is that they know a discovery had been made. They don’t know where it is but are either guessing or are certain we know about it. They have to follow us, then they’ll probably jump us.”

“But the girl…”

Nightwind sighed. “Maybe she was Dr. Alfen’s secretary back on Earth. Maybe she was a student and found some notes. Maybe a dozen things. Slayton and Dhal are probably using her, though why they haven’t gotten rid of her by now is odd.”

Heuser, ever practical, said, “She could be the financier for the operation. Or maybe she gets her jollies hanging around them. I’ve heard of stranger things. Why, on Beetem II, there was a woman who — ”

“I heard that one, Heuser. Shut up awhile and let me do some computer work.”

Nightwind’s agile fingers stroked and stabbed at the tiny keys of the aircar’s computer. The glow of the readout screen cast an eerie tint over the cramped scene. Deep in the guts of the computer, a power relay hummed slightly and transmitted the vibration to the man’s fingers. He continued inputing his requests, ignoring both Heuser and the faint shivering of the entire aircar. The storm outside was reaching a fever pitch unknown on gentler worlds.

The indicators showed the true violence of the night. Minus twenty-eight degrees, winds fiercer than any ever recorded on pacific Earth, dust whipping through the air like particles slung from the mouth of a cyclotron. In spite of the force screen, dust managed to seep through and settle down on the control panel.

Nightwind’s fingers brushed it aside. He noticed the fine grit, smelled the dryness of the powdery dust. But his answer was slowly forming on the tiny vid-screen.

He bent over, peering at the figures. Checking the course of the aircar against their destination showed Richards was, indeed, leading them on the optimum path to Devil’s Fang. Due to rocky upjuttings in the desert, it was impossible to simply lay down a straight line and drive. Navigation was a bit more complex, impossible without the computer to record their location and plot future paths while remembering the course back to Rhylston. It would have been so simple if air travel was possible on Rhyl.

There wasn’t an airship built that would withstand the buffeting winds outside. Even a calm day would require the utmost skill in landing. And, if the sketchy map of Dr. Alfen and the more complete planeto-graphical survey charts were correct, it would be impossible to land less than fifty kilometers from their destination except by helicopter.

And that was obviously out of the question. Fifty kilometers in this weather, on foot, was a sure death sentence.

“Well, Rod, how’s it look?”

“Old PR’s taking us there in fine style. No frills, just a good track through this messy place. Hmm, it just occurred to me. Heuser, how much radiation leakage off the engines could there be?”

Heuser checked one of the indicators on the control panel. He hummed to himself for a moment, then said, “Looks like very little. Damn little, in fact. Besides, if the geo-survey of this place is accurate, nobody’s tracking us by that. Here, let me find it.” His stubbier fingers worked over the keys on the computer until the mineralogical study slowly paraded on the tiny screen.

“There. See it, Rod? There’s enough low-grade thorium ore in the sand here to block any residual radiation leaking off the atomic pile.”

Nightwind nodded and said, “And with the lightning storm going full blast, no radio communication’s going to work if they put a tracking bug on us. No chemical sensor could sniff us out; the wind would blow the traces away. Looks like they have to keep us in visual sight or flat out guess where we’re going.”

The pair was silent for a moment, each lost in private thought. Nightwind finally said, “Be sure your blaster is in good working order, Heuser. I think they’ve guessed where we’re heading.”

“I get the same answer, Rod. With the force dome up, they couldn’t visually track us even if the weather was clear. They probably did a quick computer search and got a probability report on our most likely destination. With a rock formation like Devil’s Fang so prominent, it didn’t strain their imaginations any guessing we were going there.”

“Right. Let’s get some shuteye. It’s going to be a long day.”

Nightwind felt the dim, shrouded figure closing in on him. The darkness should have been his ally. Now it conspired to trip him, to allow the others to find him. A hand on his shoulder produced an instantaneous response. A smooth motion pulled his needlegun out of its holster. His finger was just about to close the trigger contact when he saw it was Richards beside him. For a long moment they stared at each other.

“You’re sure dangerous wakin’ up, Nightwind,” said Richards. His pinched features betrayed the fear at seeing the barrel of the needlegun aimed directly between his eyes.

“Bad dream. Sorry. Thought
they
were after me.” The weapon vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

“They?” Richards asked suspiciously. “Is this one of your usual dreams or something brand new?”

“New,” admitted Nightwind, pulling himself erect in the tiny bunk. He stretched like a cat, flexing his muscles, forcing circulation back into cramped muscles. He saw Heuser was already up and “vacuuming” the cabin with the sand-sucker. The cyborg was treating the device as if it were a living being, talking to it, cajoling it, even stroking its snaky length.

Richards looked upset at the answer.

“What’s wrong, PR? Aren’t we supposed to dream out in the desert?”

“Nothing, I don’t suppose. But,” he paused, “but them’s the kind of dreams my old man had before the ‘cats got him.” He fell silent for a heartbeat, then continued, “I been checkin’ around outside with the sensors. I think the ‘cats were watching us last night.”

Heuser overheard and laughed. “In that storm? Nothing could have been out in it. You said so yourself.”

“No human, little man, no human. The sandcats aren’t human. Times I don’t even think they’re real. Until they kill. This is their country from now on, and we’re the intruders. You, Nightwind, you keep that pop gun of yours handy. It won’t stop a sandcat, but it might scare the critter a mite.”

Heuser and Nightwind exchanged glances. The guide was serious. Serious and frightened of the sandcats. Nightwind shrugged slightly. He had confidence in his weapon. It could blast through a ten-centimeter-thick plate of Ultimate Strength Steel in less than a second. Nothing made of flesh and bone could withstand the condensed energy beam.

“Warning filed away to be acted on when necessary, PR. What’s the plan for getting to Devil’s Fang?”

“First, we get out from under a couple tons of sand. Strap in. We blast our way out.”

Nightwind had barely jumped into the chair and fastened the cross-harness when Richards’ finger stabbed down on the vertical power button. He didn’t apply a gradual power. One instant, the engine was cold, dead. The next, full power was applied to the lifters.

Nightwind was slammed hard into his chair. The entire aircar groaned and shrieked in torment, struggling to lift clear of the weight on top of it. The flashing red overload light blinked faster and faster until it burned a constant crimson warning. Still, Richards kept full power on his engines.

The aircar began to dance, to shimmy from side to side. Richards corrected by switching off the gyros. He kept full power on the engines as if he were intent on killing them all. An overload would flood the passenger compartment with deadly radiation.

Nightwind silenced Heuser’s warning with a shake of his head. Richards wouldn’t risk his own life needlessly. This must be done or he wouldn’t even consider it.

When he was certain the aircar wouldn’t be able to stand another second of the strain, Nightwind was slammed — hard — into the cushions of his seat. The aircar blasted straight up into the air, leaving a crater in the sand underneath.

The desert guide’s hands flew over the controls. He maintained full thrust on his engines but cut in the gyros. The added power drain stopped the upward acceleration. Deft movements reduced the power until the warning light began flashing a dull red. A further twist of the power level caused the light to wink out.

“It’s rough getting out from under all that sand. Storm last night was the granddaddy of ‘em all, or so it looks. We were under a good five meters of sand.”

“Is everything all right now?” Heuser asked anxiously. He obviously didn’t approve of all this wild flying up into the air with atomic engines going critical behind him.

“Sure, greenhorn. This is the way it’s done in the desert. Can’t keep the sand off so we don’t waste energy trying. Save it all up for one big lift against it when the storm’s over. Another few hours of that little blow and we’d be down there in our graves counting off the hours until we died.”

Heuser shivered. Death seemed too close in the desert.

Nightwind laughed. “Don’t you ever stop, PR? You know it would take a hell of a lot more than five meters to permanently bury us. We could always reform the force screen into a cylinder and blast a tunnel to the surface. I seem to remember seeing somewhere that we could have been buried up to twenty meters and still gotten out that way.”