Sandcats of Rhyl Read Online Free PDF Page B

Nightwind, then suddenly swung a short, straight punch aimed directly at the solar plexus. Nightwind’s left hand caught the fist and held it. He had to take a half step back to absorb the shock of the blow, but this was the only indication Richards’ punch was more than a love pat.
    “Here’s your blaster back.” Nightwind shoved it butt first in Richards’ direction.
    “Thanks. Whatever you two are, you sure ain’t greenhorns. Where’d you get that fast?”
    “I’m part cat.”
    “And I’m part piledriver. Want me to take a swing at you?” asked Heuser.
    Richards hastily holstered his blaster and cried, palms flat and extended in front of his chest, “No! Uh, no need. You’ve both proved your point. You’re a lot stronger than you look.”
    “Which isn’t hard,” Nightwind murmured.
    “Yeah. Anyway, you’re going to need all the strength you got to put up with Rhyl. The planet’s a killer. No malice out there, leastways not much. But if you can’t handle the dust and wind and heat, forget it.”
    Nightwind propped himself against a dusty ledge. “Why not tell us a little about Rhyl? What we’ll be needing to survive out there, for starters.”
    Richards easily jumped back onto the bare counter, sitting crosslegged. “Okay. First of all, no water. You carry what you drink. Forget about baths. Even here in Rhylston, water’s a scarce commodity. I expect you’ll be puttin’ up at the Ambassador. Water ration’s fifteen liters a day, and that’s because it’s the poshest place on planet. In the deep desert, you get five liters a day and you’d better use all of it for drinkin'.”
    “Don’t you use air-conditioned desert suits?”
    “Can’t. Might work in a mild desert like the Atacama on Earth but not here. The dust drives its way through just about everything mobile. When it gets into machinery, it literally chews up gears and cogs. Harder to make something dustproof than it is sealing a spaceship making it airtight. This patch of desert we’ll be crossin’ … well, it’s bad news. This time of year is equivalent to spring. High winds, lots of dust. We make maybe a hundred klicks a day and we’re lucky. The aircar’s got to be taken care of, regardless. Lose it and we’re in big trouble. With all the wind causing static, no radio beam’s going to get through to tell a rescue party where we’re stranded. Best chance is to nail one of the comm satellites with a laser distress beacon. And if the dust’s really blowin', no way of even seeing the sky. But that’s the minor stuff. I take good care of my aircar. Have to if I’m going to stay alive long. The hard part is that … that…” Richards’ voice faltered for the first time.
    “Something about this Devil’s Fang makes it worse than other places?” asked Nightwind, his voice almost gentle.
    Richards’ reply was a hoarse whisper. “Damn sandcats. The sandcats are filthy around that pile of rock. I’d rather be lost on foot in the worst dust storm ever than tangle with just one of …
them!
”
    Steorra daintily put her hand in front of her mouth as she sneezed. Even inside the dust-sealed hotel intruded the patina of dryness, of sand. Slayton had stuffed his nostrils with filters; those didn’t help much. The room clerk looked amused as he handed both of the wet-worlders tiny packets containing a special chemical-soaked cloth to coolly wipe away the grit.
    Only Dhal seemed not to notice. His home planet wasn’t as dry and dusty as Rhyl, but nature provided him with a greater tolerance for sand and desiccation. The climate of Rhyl was closer to his home planet of Shudd, Shudd of the lovely mauve deserts stretching to the horizons, than it was to Earth.
    “I suppose I’ve got to get used to this. Daddy did,” coughed the woman. “Have you been able to find out what happened to … them?”
    Slayton nodded. “They stopped by a small shop and seem to be lining up a guide to take them into the desert. I did a little