Richards lowered the aircar to the sand and turned off the engines. The force field died, and they were treated to the sight of a two-kilometer-high pile of wind-eroded rock soaring upward.
“Here we are, gents. Just tell me when you’re ready to go back.”
“Heuser, get the equipment ready. I’ll check out the area.” Nightwind waited until the aircar door irised open, slipped out and stood in the powdery dust at the base of the Devil’s Fang. The sheer mass of the mountain was intimidating. That it was the only thing in sight higher than a sand dune added to the effect. There was nothing to compare the mountain with to accurately judge its height.
Nightwind found a sliding motion the most effective way of walking through the sand. He studied the walls of the spike of stone. There was something different about this rock. It didn’t seem natural, but he wasn’t enough of a geologist to replace an intuition with facts. The rock appeared pitted, chunks of it totally eaten away by the high winds. He didn’t bother removing one of his gloves to touch the rock; rock was rock and any moisture loss increased the danger. Richards had been right when he said this was a violent planet. A single day’s journey after they sighted the Devil’s Fang had turned into three.
Heuser joined him, lugging along a box of small, square devices with cone-shaped protuberances on one face. The cyborg hefted the hundred-kilo box with easy contempt.
“Here are the sounders,” he said. “Ready to start putting them down yet, Rod?”
“Yes. You take numbers 1 through 100 and start off in that direction. I’ll take the rest and go the other way. Put the things about five paces apart. And be sure you don’t get the numbers mixed up. Start with 100 and work down. I’ll start with 101 and go up.”
They split, leaving Richards alone in the aircar. Nightwind felt uneasy about leaving the man behind, but not too uneasy. Heuser had opened the glycol coolant valves wide. It would take at least five minutes for Richards to heat up the engine enough to become airborne. It wasn’t much, but they didn’t dare disable the craft. Nor did they dare do anything to warn Richards they were suspicious of him; if he was honest, they could hurt his pride. If he was in some conspiracy with Slayton, he might panic and kill them. The desert provided too many opportunities for a desperate man.
Nightwind trudged off with his sonic detectors wishing he possessed Heuser’s strength. Still, each time he placed one of the seismic devices, his load was lessened that much more. After 500 meters, he finished planting the last of his sensors. He got back to the aircar ten minutes after Heuser.
The cyborg was sitting inside the aircar talking with Richards as Nightwind came in. Heuser turned and said, “All ready on my side. I have the detector ready to go.”
“What is that gizmo?” asked Richards. “I never saw anything like it before.”
“It’s the latest model sonic prospector. Just sit back and watch it work,” said Heuser.
“Fire the probes,” Nightwind said. He watched Heuser press a red button. Outside, two hundred cones exploded and sent a hair-thin tendril ten meters into the sandy soil or underpinning rock. “Activate the receptors.”
Nightwind’s cold eyes never wavered as a steady parade of numbers crossed the small monitoring screen. He fiddled first with one dial, then another. The numbers speeded up. He continued adjusting the device until he was satisfied.
He pressed a button on the side of the machine. A thin ribbon of metallic tape was spit out. Nightwind looked over his shoulder at Richards and asked, “Do you mind if I use the on-board computer? It’s already got power up. We brought along a diagnostic computer, but it would take a while to bring on-line.”
Richards pointed and said, “It’s all yours.” He pressed close as Nightwind inputted the metallic tape. The screen of the computer brightened, and the machine began digesting the raw data.
Nightwind let out a low whistle as the information came out. Heuser’s eyes widened perceptibly.
Richards was kept totally in the dark over their findings. He finally asked, in exasperation, “Well? What the hell have you two found out there with this thing?”
“This,” Nightwind answered slowly, “is supposed to give a detailed report back on the composition of the mountain. Different elements transmit sound waves differently due to density and crystal structure. The phonon wavelength difference should tell us all about Devil’s Fang.”
“Well?” repeated Richards. “Is the whole mountain nothing but pure osmium?”
“It’s nothing but pure rock,” said Nightwind. “Pure rock on the outside and completely hollow on the inside!”
Slayton snarled at Dhal, “Isn’t it working yet?”
“Quit complaining,” answered the other. “If you hadn’t gotten us buried under a ton of sand, we wouldn’t have overheated the engines getting out. I thought you knew how to drive this thing.”
“And I thought you were the expert on deserts. Why the hell didn’t you tell me it would be like that?”
“So how was I to know? I can’t see the future. I’m not a precog. So what do you mean — ”
“QUIET!” screamed Steorra, putting her hands on each side of her head. The desert suit irritated her skin, and the entire expedition was obviously not proceeding according to her plans. She thought it would be easy to follow Nightwind, catch him in the act of stealing her father’s discovery, then expose him for the thief that he was. But with the force shield up protecting them from the fierce dust storms, tracking wasn’t as simple as it might have been.
Slayton claimed to have put an electronic bug under Richards’ aircar. He might have, but it hadn’t sent out so much as a single bleep since the first day. Steorra had argued that the small device was destroyed by the wind or the ever-present dust. Slayton blamed Dhal. Dhal claimed the equipment was faulty, and Slayton should have provided higher-quality electronics for the task.
It had been one continual argument since they left Rhylston. Being trapped several meters under the sand had frightened Steorra more than she cared to admit. And she didn’t dare show the first sign of weakness to either of her companions. They obviously were raised in a tougher school. She had the gut-level feeling they would abandon her at the slightest provocation. A hard-bitten, authoritarian approach was the only way of coping with them.
She wondered exactly how much Dhal really knew of deserts. Being buried alive in the tiny aircar had been frightening. Sitting paralyzed with sure knowledge the aircar would vibrate apart as he applied power to get them out of the dusty grave took a greater measure of courage than she would have believed possible.
Now that they were out and had weathered several more storms, the aircar was beginning to show signs of metal fatigue and damage. Neither Dhal nor Slayton was mechanic enough to keep the machinery running properly. The gyros precessed slightly, requiring a constant vigilance. It was no longer possible to simply put the desired course into the computer and let the machine do the work. Steorra was the one who discovered the discrepancy between their intended course and their actual location.
It would have been funny if their lives didn’t depend on the aircar’s perfect operation.
“There,” said Dhal, wiping his hands on the sides of his desert suit. “I think we can get a few more hours of running out of it. Coolant tube into the reactor developed a hairline crack and was leaking. I don’t think it’s too bad.”
“But you don’t know for sure?” pressed Steorra.
The man glared at her.
Slayton quickly said, “We’re not going back, if that’s what is worrying you. Dhal can keep this bucket of bolts running long enough to catch up with Nightwind. We’re agreed the only place he could be going was Devil’s Fang. The topographical map of the area doesn’t show anything else in that direction.”
“How much longer do you think it’ll be?” Steorra ished now she hadn’t come along. Yet, she had to be here when Slayton forced Nightwind to admit he nurdered her father to steal his discovery.
“It’s ano
ther couple hours, if this damned computer isn’t lying to me again!” Slayton slammed his hand against the control panel. A few lights flickered as if in protest.
“Do you think it’s wise to abuse the equipment like that?” Steorra knew nothing about the on-board computer or the operation of the aircar. She was at home in the laboratory, chemical apparatus in hand. This was a new experience for her and not a very pleasant one.
“Phase off,” snapped Slayton. His face suddenly lost its hard lines as he said in a lower voice, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that. It’s just that this heat is getting to me. I’d give anything for a nice, cool, icy drink.”
“You mud-world types always scream for ice. Me, I’d be satisfied with a nice, long drink of pure water. Tepid, cold, boiling, it doesn’t matter. As long as it’s wet and doesn’t taste like piss.” Dhal licked his lips under the filter, then pulled it away from his face and properly wet his lips.
“We’ll be getting a little extra water ration soon,” Slayton said. “Look out there.”
He settled the aircar to the ground and pointed. The dasteel dome was badly pitted and it was difficult to see, but Steorra could make out a peculiar herringbone flattern in the sand. “What is it?” she asked.
“That’s the track left by an aircar. The magnetic field causes eddy currents that push the sand into those patterns. Since the sand hasn’t been blown round, it means Nightwind’s not too far ahead. Let’s go out and do some scouting on foot.”
“Right, Slayton. It wouldn’t do to drive right up on them. They, uh, they might shoot us,” said Dhal.
“Get the blasterifle out.”
“Wait!” Steorra protested. “No violence. We … we’ll get the drop on them after they’ve shown where my father’s dig was.”
“Why, Steorra, we’re not going to use the rifle. It’s the ‘scope on top that I want to use.” Slayton hefted the bulky blasterifle, showing her the variable power electronic telescopic sight.
“Oh.”
“Come on. Let’s go find them.” The aircar door opened amid a scratchy noise indicating sand in the mechanism. Slayton and Dhal ignored it; Steorra began to worry. The sand was all pervasive. It seemed like a thing alive, digging into the deepest, tightest, most protected recesses of their equipment.
She dropped down into the sand beside the others. It was apparent to her that Dhal was used to moving in sand. He barely left tracks, so light and sure was his tread. Slayton left deep depressions, and Steorra’s were barely less pronounced in spite of the difference in their weights.
Slayton dropped to his belly atop a dune and unlimbered the blasterifle. Storra stayed a little behind and down the rise, but she could hear the crackling of the electronic discharge of the ‘scope. In principle, she knew how it worked. Light was focused using an intense electric field. But she couldn’t imagine why the device was internally arcing over unless it was turned to maximum magnification.
She made her way up the slope and lay prone beside Slayton. The distance revealed the solitary pinnacle of Devil’s Fang. In the heat haze, it danced and wobbled before her eyes. She wondered what Slayton could possibly see with his magnified vision through that curtain of heat.
“I got a possible on them. Looks like their aircar at the base of the rock,” he said. “But the image keeps bobbing around. They must be a good twenty kilometers away. Too far for any kind of shot.”
“What do you mean?” Steorra demanded.
“I was just saying they didn’t have a good shot at us.”
“Don’t start anything, Slayton. I’m warning you. I hired you to follow my orders. You are not to start shooting unless it’s absolutely necessary.”
“Don’t get so excited. Dhal knows what I mean, don’t you, Dhal?”
“Sure. He’s just worried about them opening up on us. That Nightwind’s obviously a killer. A back shooter. As long as they’re too far away to do anything like that, we’re in good shape. In fact, I doubt if they even know we’re around. What’s it look like, Lane? You got the big eyepiece.”
Slayton continued to scan the area. “Looks pretty quiet to me. The shimmery air’s making it hard to tell what they’re up to. Looks like they are sticking something into the base of the pinnacle. It’s too far away to tell what, but there are a lot of places where they’re stopping. I can make out the runty guy better than Nightwind.”
“Are you sure it really is Nightwind?”
“Who else would be out here? Besides, there’s no way I could mistake that scarecrow figure. Or the short, scrawny friend of his.” Bitterness tinged Slayton’s voice. Steorra shivered a little in spite of the desert heat. She didn’t like the way Slayton took the setback in the ship’s lounge as a personal affront. He should be satisfied with bringing Nightwind to justice for theft and possible murder.
Somehow, she doubted that would be enough for the man. The steely bite of his words told her more than she really wanted to know.
The Watcher silently padded across the dune, huge paws preventing the heavy beast from sinking into the soft sand. The dull throbs deep inside its head indicated the alien intruders were nearby. The faint touch at the buried recesses of its mind hadn’t returned. That fleeting telepathic contact must have been imagined, a specter born of the Great Wind blowing that night.
The sandcat crouched down, head resting on crossed paws, powerful rear legs positioned to give the maximum acceleration should it prove necessary. A third set of legs — arms — remained curled up in pockets on the beast’s belly. This was a Watch duty, not a Builder’s task.
In the distance lay three figures on the crest of another sand dune. In the deep valley between towering mounds of desert rested their machine. The earless head turned and studied both the humans and the aircar. Only three sources of telepathic white noise were detectable.
Only three humans in this aircar. The Watcher was pleased. It would be easy to eliminate these feeble predators. The Old Ones told of fierce adversaries before the desert devoured the planet. They spun tales of water and dense vegetation — and swift, deadly opponents.
Nothing at all like these humans. Even with their mechanical devices, they couldn’t match any cub’s strength or will to survive. The flame of life flickered so low in them, the Watcher could detect very little telepathic power. Enough to show life, not enough to indicate intelligence as the sandcats understood it.
Still, there had been a hint of positive contact with the humans in the other aircar. That would bear closer scrutiny. But a Watcher wasn’t advanced enough. An Old One would, have to make that determination, especially since the humans were approaching a place forbidden to them.
The sandcat stirred a little, then settled down into the cradle of the burning sand. Eyelids moved until the proper combination brought the three humans into focus. The heat haze was corrected for. The trio might have been a few meters distant. The device held by one of them was familiar to the Watcher. The sandcat had seen humans use the fire stick before.
It was a pitiful weapon. Even now, the Watcher could detect a desire to kill from the one holding the blasterifle. How such feeble creatures could think of invading the desert was a mystery to the sandcat. When even the Rulers had perished…
It was simply inconceivable these creatures could pose any real threat.
The sandcat felt a growing pressure in its brain. The one holding the fire stick had turned and somehow sighted it. The Watcher launched itself in a high arc over the top of the dune. It hit, running. Low, fast, it presented only a small profile for the distant marksman.
The sand erupted in a molten fountain in front of the sandcat. It stopped, turned, and bolted for the rise to its right. Another blaster beam liquified the sand beside it.
The Watcher was too fast, the distance too great and the blasterifle too limited. The Watcher slipped over the top of the dune and silently laughed at the consternation it felt bubbling out of the mind of the ineffectual human.
Fierce kill emanations were liber
ally interspersed with hate and overwhelming both was fear. It was always this way. Fear betrayed the human; the sensation left the sandcat’s mind feeling unclean. A racial memory was stirred by this closeness to fear — a memory buried for eons.
The Watcher would soon kill these intruders. It was disgusted and disturbed by telepathic contact with them. Yes, the Watcher would perform the ages-old duty. But cleanly, without hate or fear.
It would strike soon.
CHAPTER FIVE
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, hollow?” asked Richards. Nightwind was busily punching another series of parameters into the computer.
Without looking up from his work, Nightwind said, “We were figuring on hitting something really big. Like a pile of solid osmium. But this is even better, if more mysterious. Why is Devil’s Fang hollow? It is artificial? Or is that a natural cavern under it?”
“The entire thing looks strange anyway, Rod,” said Heuser. “It’s the only real hunk of rock to be seen. The tri-dimensional charts show a mountain range five hundred kilometers away, but this is the only upjutting in the entire region. The rest is hard desert.”
“PR, do the sandcats show up around the Halz Mountains to the south? Or any of the other ranges? Or are they thickest around this single peak?”
Richards looked surprised. “I don’t know. Never thought about it, I guess. Nobody’s ever reported seein’ them in any of the mountains. Always in the deep desert, then just seldom. But Devil’s Fang has a reputation going back to the first days of exploration.”
“And like most planets,” Heuser ventured, “this one hasn’t been very widely explored except for the satellite recon.”
“It’s expensive and every gram freighted in is precious. On Rhyl, just setting up the equipment to squeeze the water out of the planet’s crust cost a fortune. The only reason people stuck around was sheer perversity.” Richards laughed harshly. “And a few like my old man who liked it. Just too damn stubborn to leave. And me, of course, I’m just as bull-headed. This is home, even if it is a blast furnace in the day and an icebox at night. And a dusty one, to boot.”
Sandcats of Rhyl Page 6