Sandcats of Rhyl Read Online Free PDF

on Rhyl and protect them from the tiny motes of dust trying to gnaw the flesh from their bodies. “What about the rest of the supplies? The water, food, stuff like that?”
    “You furnish.” Richards sat crosslegged on the counter now. The look on his face told Nightwind the guide enjoyed haggling as much as he did roaming the deep desert.
    “Rod,” Heuser said, “let’s get out of here before he picks our pocket, too. The man’s a flaming thief. For the price he’s charging, he should throw in the food and water. We couldn’t be big enough eaters to scare him off.”
    Richards looked at Nightwind’s tall, lank form. “You two seem sort of scrawny. Why you interested in the desert here?”
    “That’s our business. Call it sightseeing, if that suits you. But you see we aren’t rimmed with fat. And we know what we’re getting into. By your own appraisal, how much
could
we eat?”
    “Food’s part of the deal,” Richards conceded. “But let’s get it straight right now, you two, I’m not going to be fattening you up for the market. To tell you the truth, neither of you look like you’re up to surviving out there. This is not
just
a desert. I heard about the Sahara from my old man. With a name like Patton Rommel Richards, you can bet I heard and plenty! But he told me the Sahara these days is mostly irrigated farmland. That’s why he left his people, the Tuaregs, to their too-wet paradise. He drifted around lookin’ for
real
desert. Hellsgate, Primus, he hit ‘em all,” Richards said, cocking an eyebrow and meeting Nightwind’s cool gaze.
    “My old man thought
those
were sissy places. Too much water. Had this thing about dry, he did. Loved deserts, real deserts. That’s why he ended up here. Rhyl’s different, drier, nastier by a quantum jump. I charge a lot for nursemaiding the tourists. But you’re only the second folks I ever heard of that wanted to go all the way to Devil’s Fang. Not an easy trip. Can you stand it? Or will you break?”
    “Another group?” Nightwind glanced to Heuser, then fixed his gaze back on the guide. “Archeologists a few months ago?”
    “Yep.” Richards furrowed his brow, then nodded. “More’n a year back, though. Strange types to run off into the dunes. They didn’t look like they could handle it, either. Old duKane took’em in. They made it; he didn’t. Shame. He was a damn good chess player. Hard to find ‘em out here. Hard to find good men, for that matter.”
    Richards looked defiantly at the two men in his store, as if demanding proof of their competence.
    Heuser quickly said, “If any university type can make it, I’m strong enough.” He looked around until he spied a crow bar resting against one wall of the cubicle. The cyborg hefted it, then began forcing his wrists together. When they touched, the carbon steel bar was bent double like a hairpin. Heuser wiped his hands off on his trousers and dabbed at the sweat on his forehead. “You’re right, PR, it does get hot in here.”
    Richards’ only comment was, “If I do take the job, that crowbar’s on your bill. Damn things cost, freighting them all the way from Tackett’s Folly. Close to six light years’ freight.”
    Nightwind said easily, “We’ll take care of it.” He looked over the man, then said, “You’re wearing a sidearm. Why don’t you draw and try to drill me between the eyes?”
    Richards dropped to his feet from the counter top and, in a smooth, coordinated motion had his blaster out.
    And was lying flat on his back.
    He hadn’t even seen Nightwind cross the floor between them, grab his gun arm, and throw him to the dirty linoleum. Nightwind stood over Richards, the man’s own blaster negligently dangling from slender fingers.
    “You’re fast,” came the flat statement. A meaty hand looped out around Nightwind’s leg and attempted to pull it out from under him. The black-haired man eluded Richards’ attack with contemptuous ease.
    Richards came to his feet facing