This was his place. His.
“Damn, but I never saw anything like that before!” Richards exclaimed. His words broke the spell being woven around Nightwind. For the first time, he was acutely aware of the extent of mental domination-compulsion — he had felt.
“Me, either. I’ve seen gemstones from half a thousand planets and never once any like those!” exclaimed Heuser.
Nightwind watched, fear tugging at his mind, as Richards mounted the dais, sat in the too low throne and picked up the jeweled scepter on the altar in front of the seat. The cylinder was less than a meter long and encrusted with pulsating, glowing, scintillating jewels possessing their own pseudo-life. And on the very end of the rod was a gem as large as his fist.
Nightwind looked at the scepter in Richards’ hand, experiencing a gut-wrenching combination of fear and excitement.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I think we can circle around the city and see if there’s anything worth mentioning,” said Slayton. He didn’t want to enter the city directly. Not since he had sighted the lurking sandcat, waiting, inscrutable and infinitely deadly, at any rate. He would content himself with keeping a solid wall of rock to his back. The only attacks he would have to contend with would be frontal.
“A little more reconnaissance seems in order,” agreed Steorra. “We can search for the site my father must have established. I’ve been looking around the edge of the city, and I can’t see any signs of a human ever being here. Yet Daddy must have been down there. This has to be his discovery. I know it!”
Slayton smirked. The girl’s cheeks were flushed with the victory of vindication. Her father was responsible for discovering the archeological find of the century. Cities this perfect simply weren’t found abandoned. Most cities with people in them weren’t in such good repair. Slayton wondered how long it would take Steorra to realize he and Dhal had no intention of letting her escape alive with word of this vast treasure trove waiting to be looted — by them.
“This is better than the furnace outside,” said Dhal. “Heat doesn’t seem to get through the walls, and it’s nice and cool.” He peeled off his filter and inhaled deeply. “No dust in the air, either. That’s a big relief. I’m getting damned tired of breathing nothing but sand.”
“I thought you were the famous, all-mighty desert explorer,” taunted Slayton.
“I was born on a desert world. Shudd isn’t my idea of paradise and neither is Rhyl. Paradise isn’t supposed to be hot. Hell is.”
“Let’s hurry,” urged Steorra. “I want to make sure Nightwind doesn’t steal a single pebble from this gorgeous city.”
“All right. I’ll lead the way and just to make sure,” Slayton said, patting his blasterifle, “I’ll keep this handy.”
“Remember what I said,” she told him firmly. “Only in self-defense. Or in defense of my father’s find.”
“Dhal and I will make sure the right people get all of this.” Slayton saw that Steorra wasn’t the least suspicious. Now that the city was in view, her attention was focused totally in that direction.
Slayton motioned to Dhal and pulled the smaller man aside, saying, “Keep a sharp lookout. Those guys down there are tricky. And there might be sandcats in here. Remember, those ‘cats move quick as light. You’ll be damned lucky to get more than a blue Doppler shift of warning. Shoot first and we’ll sort things out later. And if the lady doesn’t like it, we’ll take care of her then and there. Got it?”
“Sure, Lane. But I doubt if the sandcats could get in here. And don’t worry about Nightwind. Leastways, don’t worry about anything but how we’re going to get all the loot out of here and back to civilization where we can cash it in for real luxury!”
Slayton nodded. He fully understood Dhal’s impatience to get back with their booty. This was simply too much to leave littering the dusty ball of Rhyl. It deserved to be used, to be converted into fine clothes, perhaps even a palace on Ambrosia and life fitting an interstellar dignitary. Or he could use the money to finance a really large crime syndicate. Use the money to make more. He was capable and knew it. Tracking down petty criminals for too many years on the frontiers of the galaxy taught him crime did pay, and well — if it was done on a big-enough scale. Nothing small, always huge and it would pay off.
The man would be content with a few trillions. Even a few billion credits was an acceptable amount. No need to be overly greedy.
“Lane, look!”
Dhal’s strident voice sent Slayton spinning into a crouch, his blasterifle aiming out, his thumb twitching off the safety. He held the posture for a moment, then relaxed. He pulled the safety back on and studied Dhal’s big discovery. He had to admit the opalescent building was different. But not all that much different from the others.
“What is it, man? Don’t spook me like that unless it’s important,” he admonished. “I’m too keyed up.”
“Damnit, look at the doors of that temple or whatever it is!”
“Yes, see!” added Steorra.
Slayton hefted the blasterifle to his shoulder and peered through the electronic ‘scope. Quivering in the field of vision was the disappearing back of Heuser.
“It’s that runt with Nightwind!”
“I saw two others going in before him. All three of them are inside that!”
“What is it, Steorra? You’re the expert on these things,” Slayton said. He didn’t want to barge into a building without knowing fully the odds confronting him.
“A temple like Dhal said. Or a palace. That seems more like it. Don’t you think it has that feeling? Power seems to ooze out, even up here. Yes,” Steorra definitely stated, “a palace for the rulers of the city.”
“Think they would set up a palace along the usual lines? A front door for the masses, a few side doors for the servants, a hidden passage or two for the ruler to escape if anything goes wrong?” Slayton was speaking as he scanned the sides of the gleaming white building.
“These are aliens. I don’t know if they would think along those lines or not. Anything is possible.”
“I don’t see any side entrances. Just the front door. If that’s all we have to worry about, we have them trapped inside. It’ll be like killing bugs with a cobalt bomb! Dhal. Start down the slope till you get to the edge of the city. Make sure you can still see the front of that palace. When you’re in position, I’ll come down and join you. Keep a sharp eye out for Nightwind trying to escape.”
“Right, Lane. And I’ll keep an even sharper eye on the gunsights.” The desert worlder slipped down the incline and was gone.
“Look, Slayton — ” Steorra began.
“You look, lady. This is my expedition now that we’ve found Nightwind and those two with him. And from now on, I’ll call the shots. I mean that literally. Either you seal that mouth of yours or I’ll do it for you.”
Steorra turned white. “All right. For now. We’ll speak more on this after Nightwind is captured.”
“Sure, sure. Now let’s move out. Dhal’s in position to cover the palace.”
Slayton pushed Steorra down the slope and quickly followed her. This was beginning to look like fun to him.
The Guardian sensed three humans moving along the periphery of the Ancient Place. With the precision of a finely engineered machine, he guided a score of sandcats through the hole blasted in the rock wall and into the giant cavern, then set them on the trio’s path.
The three — or was it two? — humans entering the Rulers’ Nest would be easily taken when the proper time came. But the sandcat was beginning to feel uneasy because of one of the three. Not human, that was a certainty.
But if the alien wasn’t human, what was it? The Guardian caught stronger surges of thought as the creature experienced the glories of the Rulers’ Nest. It responded in ways not dissimilar to those of the sandcat. The Guardian vowed to explore this phenomenon further, but not at the expense of carrying out its mission.
Guardians had protected the Ancient Place for a thousand years. This
Guardian would not be the lone one to be remiss in the duty.
“That’s a really fine piece of work,” Richards said, placing the jeweled scepter back into its cradle on the altar. “But this chair is not my idea of comfort.” He pulled himself erect, looked at Heuser and Nightwind, saying, “What’s got into you two? It’s creepy enough here but the way you’ve been walkin’ like robots…”
“The place is reaching me, I guess,” Nightwind explained, knowing fully how inadequate such an explanation was. It didn’t approach telling the exact way this place impinged on his senses, his emotions, drove unsettling messages to the very core of his being. He couldn’t understand how the guide could be so totally unresponsive to the aura of the palace.
As if Heuser were reading his mind, the cyborg said quietly, “I don’t think he has the experience to appreciate this like we do. Or it could be more complex? We might be more sensitive to certain subsonic vibrations.”
“I don’t think it’s got anything to do with sound, Heuser. The first thing I noticed was the silence. The quiet is like a blanket. Doesn’t it seem likely a race on this planet might not have any ears? The dust would certainly work against such creatures — like you and me.”
Richards piped up, “You’re forgetting this city is old, so old it may date back before the sun started heatin’ up. If that’s so, the builders weren’t forced to live in the desert.”
Nightwind shrugged. “Perhaps they were telepathic. There have been enough documented cases of intraracial ESP communication to make it plausible. I’ve even heard the Council has a few interracial telepaths it uses on certain cases. But the telepathy angle might explain why I’m so jumpy. I could be a natural receptor for some form of telepathic transfer.”
“I doubt that. The people building this place are long dead. Even if you believe in life after death, I’m doubtin’ you could communicate with them.” Richards began walking around the room, studying the geometric sculptures. He shook his head. “These folks just don’t seem to go in for self-images. Everything’s mathematically precise, geometric. Oh, well.”
Nightwind turned and looked back at the scepter on the altar. It held a strange compulsion for him. He felt the urge to pick it up, hold it, make it do … what?
His reverie was broken by the sharp crack of a blasterifle. Nightwind’s catlike reflexes came into full play. In less than a tenth of a second, he had his needlegun out and was facing the door into the throne room. Richards was crouched down, fumbling out his own blaster.
“Slayton!” barked Heuser, prone on the floor looking out across the vast chamber. “We’re trapped in here, Rod!”
“Hell we are! Cover me, you two. Ole Patton Rommel Richards is going to show those jackals some fancy pistol work!”
“PR! Stop!” yelled Nightwind.
But it was too late. The guide was already rolling, spinning, sliding across the smooth floor, his blaster spitting out microsecond bursts of deadly energy.
“Give him cover and make for the other side, Heuser. We can catch them in a crossfire when we make it.”
Firing, trying to cover Richards’ precipitous departure, Nightwind and Heuser broke from the cover of the throne room and sprinted for the safety of a pillar at the side of the chamber.
Nightwind couldn’t remember a hundred meters being longer. Even pitted against Heuser’s artificially enhanced muscles, Nightwind matched the cyborg’s ten seconds flat across the distance. And it was a ten seconds lasting for an eternity.
Heuser said, not even out of breath, “Looks like Richards made it. Now let’s give it to ‘em!” He savagely triggered one blast of raw energy after another.
Nightwind lay prone, his needlegun quiescent. He couldn’t see a good target and wasn’t going to waste energy. As a hand clutching a blaster came into view from behind a pillar, he squeezed off a shot. The blaster went spinning across the floor as Dhal screamed in pain. Nightwind was silently pleased at his marksmanship. It had been a two-hundred-meter distance shot, and he had done it perfectly.
Richards was firing wildly. Nightwind saw him stop, pull out a power unit, slam in a new one and bring his blaster back up. He smiled and waved at Nightwind. The gaunt, dark man motioned back.
With the suddenness of a summer storm, Richards shouted, “Look out, Heuser!” The guide turned and took three quick steps out into the center of the room. Stock still, he held his weapon in both hands, the position of an expert marksman.
As Heuser was turning to see what was behind him, Richards fired. The sandcat crumpled to the floor, dead. The cyborg spun in time to scream his own warning: “PR! Get down!”
Nightwind viewed the scene in an eerie slow motion. The sights of a high-power blasterifle and the blunt nozzle of the weapon appeared from behind a pillar. His own hand seemed leaden. He couldn’t bring his needlegun to bear in time to stop the fiery lance leaping out to steal Richards’ life. The spurt of energy from his tiny needlegun was far too late to save the guide.
Richards lay dead on the floor.
“Heuser!” snapped Nightwind. “Be careful. Don’t end up like him. And the sandcats are coming from somewhere. Guard my back and I’ll try to move up a bit and see if I can’t get a clean shot at Slayton.”
“Go!”
Nightwind launched himself, firing wildly as he went. He wasn’t trying to hit anyone. If Dhal and Slayton stayed under cover, that was fine. It was all he could expect. Kicking out and diving, he slid to a crashing halt against a pillar of the opalescent material. He poked his head cautiously around and saw Dhal blasting a sandcat.
He took glum satisfaction that the sandcats weren’t playing favorites. They were attacking both sides in this fire fight. But Nightwind could take little consolation in this. Not with Richards charred on the floor.
“Rod! My blaster’s getting weak. Make it quick,” called Heuser, sotto voce.
Nightwind heard a partial discharge, then a grunt. He would have turned back to his friend’s aid except a clear shot presented itself. Slayton moved from behind a pillar to blast down two sandcats padding into the Chamber. Nightwind lined up the sights on his needlegun with firing-range preciseness. Just as his finger was squeezing down, Steorra blocked his shot. She ran out, pulling down Slayton’s blasterifle. Nightwind couldn’t hear what she said, nor did it matter.
The shot wouldn’t do any good now. Not with Slayton already moving back to the protection of the pillar. Nightwind cursed himself for being such a sentimental fool. He could have dropped the woman, then taken out Slayton with a second shot.
But he hadn’t. Something made him hold back at the critical moment. The woman was still alive, but that was less than cheering. Nightwind was sure she was responsible for much of the unpleasantness with Slayton and Dhal. He still didn’t know exactly where she fit into the matrix. Kidding himself this was the reason his finger had hesitated long enough for Slayton to save himself wasn’t productive.
Nightwind heard Slayton’s heavy blasterifle fire again. The sandcats were invading the palace in greater numbers now. He took a quick shot at Dhal, missed, cursed and fired again. The other had picked up another blaster and was liberally spraying spurts of energy all over the chamber. It didn’t seem to matter to the man if he was firing at a sandcat or Nightwind.
“Heuser,” Nightwind called. Not hearing anything, he called, louder, “Heuser! Are you okay?”
Nightwind abandoned his position and made his way back to Heuser’s side. The cyborg was unconscious, pinned under the bulk of a sandcat. The beast had obviously jumped Heuser and the cyborg had fired point blank into its chest. Nightwind checked his friend’s blaster. The charge level read zero. The sandcat had taken only a partial bolt of energy. He reached over and felt the sleek beast’s throat, searching for a pulse. Finding it, he paused.
Should he finish the job Heuser had started? Should he kill the sandcat? A single shot through its earless head would end its existence and avenge Heuser, not that Heuser was dead. The cyborg’s head displayed a
knot the size of a small egg growing even as he watched.
He shrugged it off. The battlefield was to the front, not here. He could hear two blasters firing with grim regularity. He was sure Dhal and Slayton were perched high up, firing down at the sandcats. Only in that position could they be assured of successfully driving the ‘cats from the palace.
Nightwind studied the pillars and thought he spied the mezzanine or balcony where Dhal must be. He hunkered down, his wrists resting against his knees. The needlegun unwaveringly pointed at the tiny target so far away. A flash of desert suit, a burst from his pistol, an agonized scream from Dhal’s lips.
Good.
He turned to find where Slayton would be lurking to give a crossfire. Not even his super-fast reflexes could respond quickly enough to the cold worlds, “Good-bye, Nightwind,” uttered from behind.
The man pivoted in time to see the blur of a descending blasterifle butt. Then the world went away.
CHAPTER EIGHT
REDWAVES OF PAIN washed through his head. It was agony to move. But Nightwind struggled back to consciousness. He had to squeeze the trigger of his needlegun. He had to put a searing bolt of lambent energy through Slayton’s heart.
Opening his eyes set off a chain reaction of muscle spasms throughout his body. The light burned like a white-hot poker jabbing into the back of his skull. But still he fought to regain full use of his body. He rolled over, feeling cool floor under his hands. Nightwind shook his head like a wet terrier, then pulled himself erect. He was looking into the muzzle of Slayton’s blasterifle, Slayton’s cold eyes peering up over the electronic sighting mechanism.
“I can’t miss at this range, Nightwind. Just sit back and be a good boy.”
“It doesn’t seem I have much choice, does it?”
“No,” Slayton said cheerfully. “It’s finally turned full circle, the wheel of fate has. I control you now. And I’m going to enjoy it to the fullest.”
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