Sandcats of Rhyl (12 page)

“I haven’t seen any indications of written language, either,” said Heuser. “Do you suppose they were all illiterate?”

“I doubt it. Building something as elegant as a catenary arch or those cycloid patterns require a fairly advanced engineering skill and some mathematical ability. It must have been written down somewhere. I’d like to find a library or whatever would pass for one in this culture.”

Nightwind stretched his long legs. He looked at Richards who seemed disinterested in such pedestrian pursuits. Heuser seemed loath to give up his petting of the golden pavement. That posed something of a problem if the cyborg couldn’t control it. Nightwind vowed to watch his companion closely and see if any addicting behavior showed up.

Pleasure was one thing, addiction another.

“I can’t figure out any pattern for the streets,” Nightwind continued, “but most beings seem to think in terms of a center and spokes radiating from it. There must be a place dead middle of all this.” He indicated the gleaming substance of the walls forming the rich canyons of exotic gems rising on every side.

“By my figurin', such a place should be off in this direction,” said Richards. “I checked the usual stuff. Compass, radio, most of the EM stuff. All zero. So, next I decided there might be a pattern in the arches. All the ones coming in from the wall of Devil’s Fang seemed to be perpendicular. I sort of sighted along a couple and about half a klick this way is where the lines crossed. That should be the middle.”

Nightwind smiled. His faith in the man was growing by leaps and bounds. Such a simple method of finding the center of a cylindrical area should have been immediately apparent to him. But it was the guide who had done the work first.

“Lead on and we tourists will go for the ten-cent tour.”

Nightwind became increasingly uneasy as they neared the center of the city. It was nothing he could pinpoint. A sixth sense had always aided him in time of danger. Now it was warning him. No blatant bells-ringing-sirens-howling message, just a vague uneasiness. He made sure his needlegun was resting free in the holster. The small gun fired a microsecond burst of energy that could pierce any flesh. It had no stopping power, but he was good enough a marksman to put in a dozen hits before most targets could move a millimeter.

“Rod,” whispered Heuser, “I’m feeling spooked again. It’s getting stronger. I keep looking back over my shoulder sure someone’s there. No one has been — so far.”

“Yeah, so far. I have the same feeling.” It both pleased and bothered him Heuser was experiencing similar feelings. he was glad to have his baseless feelings reinforced. But he was apprehensive that he couldn’t pinpoint the problem.

As far as he could tell, Richards was content and unaware of the almost electric tension in the air around him. The man blithely plodded on, his tread silent on the strange pavement of the city streets.

All three stopped dead in their tracks when they saw it. For long seconds, none spoke. Finally, Richards said, “I never imagined anything could be that beautiful, not even when I get twisted on happy dust.” The note of awe in his voice was unmistakable.

Nightwind had to agree with the guide. The opalescent building surpassed all the others in grace, beauty of design and outright class. Thin, strangely shaped columns supported a crenated beam from which the roof rose in a graceful arch. Broad, low steps interspersed with ramps disappeared into the Stygian depths of the interior. The only material used was similar to mother of pearl or fire opal. It was translucent with dancing sparks of color within.

As they approached, Nightwind felt the level of tension in the air grow exponentially. His hand quivered now, anticipating any sudden movement. And, strangely, he detected a faint odor of cinnamon in the air. Wary, he approached a column and studied the darting sparks trapped in the milky material. The odor he was smelling came from the column. Touching it, he was surprised to find the surface soft — soft and yielding like the golden pavement of the streets. Unlike the pavement, however, there was no sense of well-being.

Nothing could erase the impression of impending disaster he was experiencing.

“Well, do we continue?” he asked the others.

“Sure, Nightwind. We’ve come this far. The only way of telling what is inside is to see for ourselves!” Richards strode off, confident. Nightwind followed, less sure of himself. And he couldn’t help noticing Heuser’s hand resting on the butt of his blaster. The cyborg was prepared for any eventuality.

The darkness didn’t bother them once they passed through the doorway. In spite of the blackness, Nightwind found it easy to find his way. As if some inner direction finder was at work, his steps unerringly led him to a vast central chamber. He should have been prepared for the sight but wasn’t.

Ever since entering Devil’s Fang, the remnants of the city builders had amazed him. He vowed each time that nothing new he discovered would excite him as much as the last surprise. The sight of the city, for the first time, was breathtaking. The “feel” of the city was unique, totally different from anything else he had ever discovered in his years of traveling to scores of exotic worlds. The sight of the pearlescent building raised his opinion of the builders even higher.

But nothing prepared him for the grandeur and total sensory assault of this room — throne room was the only way he could categorize it. The most delicate of tapestries hung on the walls. Each was woven with a different geometrical pattern; some he recognized as Lissajous patterns, some merely fanciful designs, others on which his eyes refused to properly focus were vaguely disquieting. The floor of the giant room seemed insubstantial, flowing back and forth in a never-ending display of pyrotechnic beauty. Every color of the rainbow was proudly displayed for his personal viewing pleasure.

Nightwind heard Heuser mutter, “All the way! As far into the spectrum as I can see! At least up to 8000 Angstroms! The beauty of it!”

It didn’t surprise him, somehow, that the designers of this chamber would make sure every wavelength possibly seen by a living creature would be represented. They were that thorough.

The colors flowed and danced like houris in a hypnotic pattern that wasn’t truly a pattern. Randomness was cunningly combined with plan to form a work of art rivaling anything in the galaxy. And this was only a small portion of the glories contained in the room. The aromas were as intimately mixed as the colors. Cinnamon predominated; that might have been a favorite of the city builders. But other, more arcane, fragrances tantalized his nostrils. In a pattern as intricate as the floor, the perfumes hanging in the still air aroused, soothed, and, curiously, made him feel even more uncomfortable.

As if the designers intended to play on his every emotion, Nightwind found himself being dragged up and down the entire spectrum of human sensitivity.

And still there was more to the vast room. In the center was a box of dark black wood. Unbidden, Nightwind found himself drawn toward the structure. He walked and walked and walked over the intermixing colors until he finally arrived in front of a wall of the purest ebony. From the distance, this had appeared small. Up close, Nightwind discovered a room ten meters wide and deep and four meters high. That, more than anything else, put the chamber’s true size into perspective for him.

This wasn’t large, it was huge!

A carved door seemed the only way into the room of black wood. Drawn by forces beyond his comprehension, Nightwind unhesitatingly entered. The door opened on silent hinges (there had been no sound at all except the faint lub-dubbing of his own heart) and he found an intricately carved screen of ivorylike material between him and a throne.

Nightwind walked around the edge of the screen seeing the throne and altar in front of it clearly for the first time. Again, he was assailed by doubt, fear, and intense longing. He had never seen this room before, yet he was returning home.

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.

“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.”