Treasure of T'fu

James Abraham Carter

Warning: Erotic Content. Adults only

William Fargo shifted in the saddle of his weird mount as he gazed at the ancient ruins of T’fu. It had taken him four days of hard riding from Alpha City, the only spaceport on this developing world, to reach his current destination.

The young man’s brown eyes roamed across the litter of broken columns, fallen corbel arches, and crumbled walls that were illuminated by late afternoon sunlight. Occasionally, they rested on the more intact buildings that rose above the detritus of millennia, the square pillars of which supported some semblance of a roof. But these were few and far between and did not hold his questing gaze for long.

His eyes continued to travel across the silent and forlorn vista. Only wild animals inhabited what once must have been a mighty metropolis, and where there had been the sound of bustling crowds, now only the wind moaned sadly between the broken pillars of forum and marketplace, lamenting the beauty that once was and the extinct alien species that had built it.

At last, his gaze found the object of his quest. It was a tall tower obscured by one of the few pseudo-conifer trees that rose like lonely sentinels above the otherwise stunted and thorny vegetation. Only by shifting the position of his mount had he caught a glimpse of the ruin’s bluish stonework.

“Come on, Lizard,” he said to the animal, uttering the personal name he’d given it, “It’s time to go.”

The caw, so named because of the crow-like sounds that it made, moved off at the touch of his spurs, threading its way through the maze of rubble and brush under the guidance of the reins in its master’s strong hands.

The beast, indigenous to Abara, the name of the planet, roughly resembled a dromedary - the single-humped camel of Arabia. It’s bony head, however, was more like that of a Komodo dragon. Its body was protected on the neck, back, and flanks by large bony scales resembling those of a crocodile, but glossy brown in color. The scales on the underbelly were smaller and of a lighter shade. Its scaly, muscular tail was longer and far thicker than a camel’s and had eight six-inch spikes toward the tip - a natural bony mace that it used in self-defense.

The panniers of the caw were loaded with equipment that indicated Fargo was an archaeologist, but this wasn’t so, at least not by a recognized degree in that field. The young man wasn’t from a wealthy family. The problem wasn’t so much the cost of a higher education but rather the price of the drug Potenimus.

Potenimus was a wonder drug that enhanced memory and IQ, so much so that students using it could complete their education in half the time and get a job well ahead of others. That wouldn’t have been so bad if the playing field were level as it was on other worlds, where the product was heavily subsidized by enlightened governments dedicated to equality and social cohesion.

But on his home-world of Canutis, there was no subsidy, and the cost was so great that only the children of moneyed parents could afford it. Fargo could have spent thousands of credits on a degree in archaeology, plodding along while being outpaced by wealthy students, only to find upon graduating that the available jobs had been taken by the children of the rich, leaving him deep in debt from a student loan and unemployed to boot.

So instead, he’d settled for an administrative role in the Interplanetary Museum, which was located in the capital city of Veronis. But he hadn’t given up on his dream of going to exotic worlds and making fantastic discoveries. In high school, he’d studied every textbook on the subject he could borrow from the e-library, and this continued onward to the present. At 26 he felt he knew as much as any student who had completed a university degree. The problem was he didn’t have the paperwork to prove it.

His middle-class job at the museum was mostly satisfying, but in the end, it was all about assisting with the curation of the discoveries of others. However, it was while working at the institution that he came across a journal on the city of T’fu. It had been by way of a deceased estate - a donation to the organization. The diary had been written by an amateur historian who had visited the site 50 years ago. The book contained rough sketches of the city and the tower, with tantalizing hints that something of significance lay within. The journal ended on this note, with the author saying he’d return. The ending left Fargo both intrigued and frustrated.

No one was interested in the work of an amateur - the prevailing snobbish nature of the educated rich saw to that. The book had been accepted as a curio more than anything else (hardly anyone recorded things on paper anymore), done out of courtesy so as not to offend its donor. Fargo would never have seen it if it hadn’t come across his desk for cataloging before being relegated to the museum’s dusty archives.

Fargo had been drawn to the book, its florid descriptions of the ruins and the fact that he’d found a kindred spirit - a man who aspired to be more than what his society told him he could be. James Masters was the author of the journal. Fargo’s research revealed that the man had died in an air-car accident shortly after returning from Abara. He’d never gotten the chance to return and complete his discovery. Fargo had decided to rectify cruel fate by taking up where Masters had left off and give the man his due if there was something of significance in the ruins.

And now, after three years of saving and planning, here he was on Abara, ready to make history during his annual leave. His excitement, though, was dampened by the calamitous situation back home. The rich had grown richer, the poor had grown poorer, and the middle class had shrunk dramatically. Poverty breeds crime and other social ills, and it had skyrocketed due to the winding back of reform programs by a series of penny-pinching, unenlightened governments. Heavy-handed police patrolled the streets, harassing people on the mere basis of suspicion - if you were poor, then you were obviously scum.

The wealthy elites in their fortified, leafy suburbs were out of touch with the suffering and struggles of the common people, and even if they knew what it was like to be downtrodden, most of them probably wouldn’t care. The masses were restless, having lost faith in a corrupt political system that favored those with money. Terrorist activity had spiked with the bombing of police stations and government buildings. There was a mood of revolution in the air, which was accelerating when he’d left. Things were coming to a head.

Fargo refocused his attention on the ruins in an attempt to distract himself from the problems he’d been contemplating. But his expression soured further. He was now much closer, and from this distance, he could see the encampment set up in the shade of the tall pine-like tree near the tower. After all these years it appeared someone else had also taken an interest in the site, one of tens of thousands scatted across the planet.

The sudden hiss of a power-rifle made Fargo start. The shot missed him. It struck the ground some feet away, explosively vaporizing stone. Fargo’s caw reared in fright, throwing him off. He hit the ground hard as Lizard bolted. The young man swore. He scrambled behind a broken pillar as another shot hissed passed his ear with singeing nearness.

Fargo unhooked the crossbow from his belt. He couldn’t afford a modern weapon, and so had resorted to a family heirloom for defence. The spaceport customs officers had laughed when he’d declared the ancient thing. But even so in skilled hands it could kill a man just as dead as a power-rifle, and Fargo had practiced most assiduously.

The young man spanned the bow with his muscular arms and loaded it with a quarrel. Then he picked up a stone and threw it to his right. The pebble cracked against another column. The power-rifle hissed. Fargo poked his head up and caught a brief glimpse of a figure. He quickly aimed and let fly the quarrel. His unknown foe screamed. Then Fargo cried out in pain as a ray hit him in the head. There had been another shooter that he hadn’t seen. He collapsed to the earth and lay unmoving.

**********

Frago opened his eyes. His head ached as if he’d been slugged by a heavyweight boxer. He was still alive, which meant that the second shooter’s power-rifle had been set to stun. Slowly, his vision cleared.

A woman was standing over him. Her hair was the color of burnished copper. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires and were set in a heart-shaped face. Her cheekbones were high. Her nose was aquiline and her lips full. She was dressed in a gray tight fitting work jumpsuit and boots that displayed her athletic figure to advantage.

Fargo thought that she was attractive, but her mood was otherwise as was indicated by the fact the power-rifle she was armed with was pointed at his head.

“Why did you shoot one of my men?” she aggressively asked. “Luckily, it was just a flesh wound.” By her accent Fargo knew she was also from Canutis, but unlike him from the upper class.

“I was shot at first,” he replied. “Without warning and without provocation. I thought I was being attacked by bandits. I’ve heard some are active in this area.”

“My men tell a different story,” she replied. “If anyone is a bandit it’s most likely you. What are you doing here? I’ve searched you. You have no ID, no permits.”

“They were all in the panniers of my caw,” calmly replied Fargo, hiding his annoyance. He’d been shot at without reason, and now he felt like he was being given the third degree. “My mount bolted when your men attacked me. Like you I’m here to investigate the ruins.”

The woman laughed derisively. “Just you on your own? Where’s your team?”

“I’m an amateur archaeologist, and so I have to work alone.”

“There’s no such thing,” she sneered. “I’ve graduated in the field and have the papers to prove it. You are either an archaeologist or you are not. If you haven’t graduated, then you’re not. I think you’re a treasure hunter here to steal artifacts so you can sell them on the black market for a handsome profit.”

Insult had now been added to injury, and Fargo had had enough.

“Lady,” he hotly replied. “My head hurts from being shot, and my arse hurts from the fall. I really don’t give a shit what you think, and I’m not answering any more of your bloody questions.”

“As you wish,” she coldly replied. “Get up slowly. I’m going to lock you in the storage hut. I’ve already called the local law enforcement. They know how to deal with your kind.”

Fargo stood and looked around, ignoring the gun pointed at him. He’d been brought to the camp whilst unconscious. He’d obviously been out cold for some time as it was now early evening. From what he could see in the growing dark the setup looked very professional with all the latest accoutrements. No doubt it had the financial backing of a major institution.

Some of the men, however, probably locals employed for the task of digging, were rather disreputable looking characters. Fargo correctly guessed he’d been shot at by two of them, and suspiciously wondered how they could afford costly power-rifles.

He was about to question the woman concerning this when she rammed him in the back with the barrel of her weapon. “Get a move on,” she harshly ordered. “That way.”

Fargo stumbled from the hard shove. He walked in angry silence towards a prefabricated hut that had been flown in by a Heavylift transporter. The door was already open and he stepped inside.

“The Alpha City police will be here by air-car in a little over an hour,” advised his jailer. “This will give you a foretaste of prison, if you haven’t already experienced it, that is.”

And with that parting shot she slammed the door in his face.

Fargo cursed her with all the imprecations he could recall. Not every member of the wealthy was as arrogant as that, but many did look down on those they considered their social inferiors. In their eyes if you weren’t one of them it was because you were stupid, lazy or both, and therefore predisposed to criminality. Clearly, she’d unfairly put him in this category.

After about half a minute of ranting, Fargo settled. Raging against the situation wouldn’t help. He looked around the hut. The windows were covered with an alloy wire mesh, which was much stronger than steel, and the contents on the shelves had been secured against pilfering by sliding doors of the same material. He saw that his crossbow and quiver had been placed among the items.

The young man removed the clasp knife hidden in his boot and smiled. His smart-arse captor had missed that. He unfurled the three inch blade, the spine of which was serrated like a hacksaw, and began to use it to cut the wire mesh. The crossbow was an heirloom of great sentimental value, and he wasn’t going to allow it to be snatched away.

The mesh gradually parted to the tougher alloy of the knife. The task was almost complete when the sound of power-rifles on automatic fire made Fargo pause. He looked out the window. It was now quite dark. The light of Oros, Abara’s single moon, dimly illuminated the dreadful scene. Shadowy figures were running about in obvious panic. The night was cut by screams and the flare of weapons. Several tents were on fire, adding to the chaos.

Fargo swore in fright. He hurriedly recommenced his sawing. The camp was under attack, but by whom? Bandits, perhaps? The mesh parted fully. He slung the quiver on his back, grabbed the crossbow, loaded it. The hut’s door burst open. A figure armed with a pick barged in. It was one of the diggers. The man charged at him, tool swinging. Fargo shot him in the chest. The young man vaulted the corpse, raced from the hut and vanished into the night. He now knew who the attackers were.

**********

Fargo crouched among the moonlit ruins, carefully observing the now quiet camp. His face was grim as he observed the killers moving about, making sure none were left alive. It had been a senseless and brutal massacre and no doubt the brutes would be coming for him as soon as they’d secured the area. Well, he wouldn’t be as easily slaughtered as those poor academics. He thought of the woman and felt sorry for her. He hoped she’d met her end quickly.

The sound of a scream drew his gaze. He saw two of the killers dragging someone by the hair from beneath a thorny bush where they’d been hiding. The hair was long and the cry was feminine. It could only be the woman he’d been thinking of.

**********

Rachel Brown struggled in the arms of the two thuggish men who hauled her before Ian Hunt, the foreman of the diggers she’d employed. Her hands had now been bound behind her back. She was completely helpless. The big ugly fellow grinned malevolently at her. His eyes were as hard as steel and his face scarred from many a brutal fight.

Rachel was very frightened. She looked about and saw the bodies of her slain colleagues, some of them good friends. She felt numb, too numb to weep. That would come later. For now her own survival was at stake. She put on a brave front, hiding her terror behind the fragile facade.

“The police will be here soon,” she said shakily. “You’d best flee while you still can. If you kill me it will only add to your sentence.”

Hunt laughed. “I don’t plan to kill you. I need you alive. Now, where is the treasure you’ve been searching for. We’ve been here a week and only found useless junk. I don’t see what the fuss over pot shards is all about.”

“This is a scientific expedition, not a treasure hunt. The only treasure here is the treasure of knowledge,” she nervously replied.

Hunt’s face grew even harder. “I don’t have time for your lies,” he spat. “You called the police over that idiot my men shot at. I can’t risk them identifying me so I’ve had to accelerate my plans.”

“You mean he didn’t shoot first,” she asked.

“Of course not. I’ll have to deal with those two trigger happy fools later. They’re just as much to blame. Now, are you going to tell me where the treasure is? This is your final chance.”

A man ran up to Hunt before the girl could answer. “Boss, he cried. “Mace is dead and the hut empty. He’s got an arrow in his chest. The stranger must have killed him before escaping.”

Hunt cursed. “You two,” he said to the men holding the girl. Take her to the tower while I inspect the security of the camp. Then to Rachael: I’ll deal with you shortly.”

The two thugs forced the woman towards the tower. It loomed in the darkness as they approached, its blue stone glinting faintly in the moonlight. Captors and captive stepped through the arched doorway, and entered the ground floor of the building, which was faintly illuminated by cubes of phosphorescent stone cemented in the high ceiling.

Many days had been spent clearing the chamber of the dirt of centuries to reveal the intricate carvings on the walls of the room - ones that Rachael had been fastidiously studying. The delay in breaking into the upper chambers was the source of Hunt’s impatience, for he was certain that they contained treasure, as this was a burial tower of the ancient people who had built the long-dead city.

Both thugs looked around the room. Nothing here was at all of any interest to them, except the girl of course.

“Let’s have a little fun before the boss arrives,” said one to the other with a wink.

“Hunt isn’t going to like that,” replied the brute’s companion, guessing his associate’s intentions.

“He can’t complain so long as we don’t kill her,” replied the first as he drew his knife.

“Oh, God,” cried Rachael as the brute pressed the knife to her throat and with his other hand unzipped her jumpsuit from her neck to her crotch. She was about to experience every woman’s worst nightmare.

“Quiet, sweetie,” murmured her assailant. “You won’t get hurt if you cooperate,” he lied. Rachael wasn’t wearing any bra, and both thugs were now fully aroused by the sight of her small but shapely breasts with their prominent nipples.

Knives sliced, cloth parted. The terrified woman whimpered. In mere seconds she was standing completely naked before her cruel captors as they explored her body with their lascivious gazes. One brute stood behind her, grinning as he  painfully squeezed her breasts, the other bent forward and began sucking on Rachael’s nipples as tears streamed down her cheeks. She gasped in pain as the  fiend deliberately bit into her delicate flesh, drawing blood. His knife pressed against her throat prevented her from crying out.

His tongue moved lower, trailing saliva down her trembling belly, poking suggestively into her deep naval. The brute forced her thighs apart. Rachael whimpered, stiffened in expectation of the violating penetration of his tongue as he parted the lips of her vulva.

The assailant standing behind Rachel grunted, but not at all in pleasure. He collapsed, a quarrel protruding from his back. Fargo dashed into the room clasp knife between his teeth. There wasn’t time to reload the crossbow. He hurled it at the second brute. It struck the man a glancing blow. Down he went. Fargo was on him, the knife, now in his hand, plunging furiously, ripping into the pervert’s throat.

Fargo got to his feet, sickened by the sight of gushing gore. Quickly, he pulled himself together. This was no time to fall apart. He had to get the woman out of here. And he needed to move fast. The camp was crawling with killers whom he’d barely avoided.

He turned to the woman. She backed away from him, terrified from her ordeal, and frightened by his unrestrained violence.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” he said. “Turn around so I can cut your bonds.”

Rachael nervously complied and in mere seconds she was free. She stood wide eyed, covering her breasts and loins with her hands, her clothes too shredded to be of any use. She worriedly watched Fargo as he grabbed a power-rifle from a corpse.

“Do you know how to use one of these?” he asked as he handed it to her.

“Yes,” replied Rachael as she took the gun. The solidity of the weapon lent her courage. If the stranger meant her harm he would never have given it to her. “But I’ve never killed anyone before,” she added as Fargo retrieve his crossbow and reloaded it.

The young man softly cursed as he carefully peeked out the doorway. “You’re about to learn,” he quietly said.

**********

Hunt and two of his henchmen approached the tower. His check of the perimeter was complete. The camp was as secure as it could be given he only had eight remaining men. Now it was time to deal with that aristocratic bitch. He’d had enough of her high handedness when ordering him about. He was the toughest bandit leader of this lawless region, and it irked to take orders from a snotty chit. He’d take great pleasure in tearing the location of the treasure out of her.

The sound of a quarrel thudding to one henchman’s chest brought Hunt out of his sadistic fantasies. A flashing beam cut down the other as the bandit leader threw himself to the ground. A second ray hissed above Hunt’s head singing his hair with frightening nearness as he scuttled behind a lump of masonry.

Rachael swore. “I missed the bastard,” she hotly exclaimed as shouts of alarm from the other bandits filled the night.

“They’ll have us pinned down in a moment,” observed Fargo. “Is there any other way out of here?”

“Only up,” replied Rachael. There must be a secret door to the other floors of the tower. The carvings are the key. I haven’t quite figured it out yet.

“Then you’d better,” he replied. “Give me the rifle. I’ll keep watch while you work on it. We have to hold out until the police get here.”

Rachael was somewhat annoyed by his commanding tone. She was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them from someone who was obviously her social inferior.

“You know, if you were a gentleman you’d have given me your shirt by now,” she said in an attempt to get back at him.

Fargo, who like Rachael, wasn’t in the best of moods due to the extremely stressful situation, irritably replied: “Well, pardon me. I’ve been somewhat busy fighting a gang of ruthless killers. I haven’t had time to think about your skinny arse. Now, get to work.”

“You’re a horrible man,” she furiously cried. Nonetheless, she did as he commanded.

************

“What will we do, Boss?” worriedly asked a burly member of the gang. “They’re hold up in the tower. Jack and Steve are obviously dead, which means there are only seven of us left in total. The police are on their way. Maybe we should cut our losses and run for it.”

Hunt furiously turned on the man and knocked him unconscious to the ground with a wild haymaker.

The bandit leader turned to his other followers, who nervously stepped back from his raging fury and murderous expression.

“By God, I’ll shoot the next man who talks of running,” he yelled. “I haven’t put up with all that chit’s arrogance for nothing. There’s a mountain of treasure in there, and I’m not walking away empty handed. I’ve thought of something that will force the bastards out.”

**********

Fargo started as a dead shrub was tossed in front of the tower’s entrance, then another and another. The young man cursed. He couldn’t get a clear shot at the bandits. They were standing at the sides of the building, the curve of which was providing them with cover. The only way he could pick them off was by stepping out and then a sniper would cut him down.

“What’s happening?” asked Rachael, pausing in her study of the carvings.

They’re piling brush in front of the door. I think they’re going to try and smoke us out. Have you found the key?”

“Not yet,” she responded.

“You’d better hurry,” he urged. “I don’t think we’ve got much time.”

A power-rifle flared. The bone dry shrubs instantly ignited at its blazing touch. Red flames leaped in the night. Smoke billowed. It came through the door in choking clouds forcing Fargo to retreat.

The young man moved to Rachael’s side. He removed his shirt, ripped it into pieces and handed her some cloth.

“Wrap this around your nose and mouth,” he said. “It may help a bit.”

The smoke thickened. Visibility rapidly diminished. It became increasingly difficult to breathe. Rachael could barely see the carvings as she strove to remain calm under such challenging circumstances. The solution was hovering on the edge of consciousness. She saw Fargo slide unconscious to the floor. In but moments she would also be overcome. The though struck her that she didn’t even know his name.

**********

“They’re not coming out, Boss,” observed a bearded henchman.

“I can see that, you bloody fool,” snapped Hunt. “They’ve probably been overcome by smoke. You and you,” he said, thrusting a finger at two gang members. “Pull the bushes away and be quick about it. I don’t want the woman die, at least not until we get the treasure.”

The chosen men leaped to the task as they were covered by the rifles of the others. In less than a minute the burning bushes had been cleared away. Smoke streamed from the doorway. Hunt dashed into the tower, not waiting for the room to completely clear. Coughing, eyes watering, he stumbled around, searching. But the room was empty. He hurled his power-rifle to the ground in furious frustration.

**********

Fargo regained consciousness to the press of the woman’s mouth to his as she resuscitated him. She quickly pulled away and wiped her lips as he began to cough.

“Thanks,” he managed to wheeze, seeing that she’d wrapped what was left of his shirt around her hips and breasts, not that it covered very much of her svelte figure.

“I guess that makes us even,” she replied. “I’m Rachael, by the way.”

“And I’m William,” he responded quietly as he looked around. The young man saw they rested at the foot of narrow stairs. These spiraled upwards to the tower’s other floor along with some smoke that had entered with them. Rachael had opened the secret way just in time. “Lets ascend. If we don’t move from here, the bandits might hear us.”

As Fargo stood, Rachael realized how muscular he was without his bulky shirt: broad shoulders, deep chest, arms thickly corded with muscle. When he turned, she saw that his back was a crosshatch of scars that looked like whip marks. He was very different from the soft male academics that she was familiar with. Rachael knew he was from her home-world and she wondered if he was a sociopathic terrorist come to steal treasure to fund more revolutionary violence. His appearance and behavior certainly gave that impression in her eyes.

And here she was, alone with him, clad in rags that hardly concealed her well proportioned figure. Rachael remembered his insulting reference to her skinny arse. Her lips thinned in anger. The ill bred lowbrow probably favored quantity rather than quality, which was typical of such men, or so she erroneously assumed.

“I’ll take the lead,” she said with an air of superiority as she picked up the rifle and slung it on her back. “This burial tower may have booby traps that you wouldn’t recognize.”

“As you wish,” he replied as he gathered up his crossbow and quiver, shaking his head at her haughtiness.

Rachael went ahead, and as she ascended the steep stairs, Fargo smiled to himself. In her arrogance that she knew more than he did she hadn’t stopped to consider the scantiness of her apparel. Consequently, the young man had a very good view of her shapely buttocks and vulva. He decided they weren’t too bad after all.

The next floor came into view. Rachael scrutinized the the landing as she had the stairs, looking for trigger mechanisms such as trip wires. Finding none she placed one foot gingerly on the platform, pressed down carefully to see if there was a concealed trapdoor that would drop her into a spike lined pit. Satisfied that it was solid stone she stepped upon it with all her weight. It was then that a dozen heavy spikes dropped down through holes in the ceiling.

**********

Hunt swore again as he looked around the empty chamber. There was no other way out - no other door, no windows, nothing. How could they not be here? He waited impatiently for the smoke to clear further, then began a detailed examination of the room, unperturbed by the corpses of his men, whom he callously disregarded.

His surviving bravos watched Hunt as he circled the room like a prowling tiger. They kept quiet. The Boss was in a foul mood, and no one wanted to say something that would make them the target of his volcanic ire.

Hunt paused by a carving on the wall and squatted. There was a concentration of footprints in the dust, indicating both had been standing there for some time. He pressed his fingers to the stone. It seemed solid, but appearances could be deceiving. He turned to his men.

“Elias,” he ordered, grinning. “Bring me the explosives.”

**********

Fargo heard the rasp of metal on stone as the spikes dropped from their holes. Instantly, he knew what it portended. Leaping forward he caught Rachael in his arms and swept her from the platform. The spikes crashed down where she’d been standing but seconds ago. They bounced. One struck Fargo’s arm as he shielded the woman with his body. The rest tumbled down the stairs in an iron clatter.

“Are you all right?” he asked as the raucous echoes died away.

“I’m unhurt,” she replied. “Just a little shaken.”

“It pays to look up as well as down,” he suggested, still holding her in his arms.

“You’re hurt,” she gasped, seeing the bleeding laceration on his bicep where the spike had struck.”

“Just another scar,” he casually replied as he let go of her. “You’re probably wondering about those on my back. They’re the result of living in a rough area as a teenager. I’m not a bad person, Rachael. I just haven’t been as lucky as you. Your wealthy family has given you privileges I could never know. But I don’t begrudge you that.”

Rachael felt ashamed. She’d misjudged him. She hesitated for a moment, then undid the rag about her breasts and used it to bind his injury.

“Thank you,” he quietly said as he gazed at her, causing her to hotly blush. “You’re still shaken up. I’d better take the lead.”

Fargo scanned the doorway with his gaze, both up and down. No trigger mechanisms were in evidence. Cautiously, he peered within the room. It was illuminated by dimly glowing cubes set in the ceiling, and by their light he saw huge statues spaced about the walls. The figures were gaunt and angular by human standards, but they were accurate representations of the Axkie, the extinct people who’d built the city. Each statue was mounted on a plinth and held a flute-like instrument to its stony lips. In the middle of the room was a pedestal, and on it was a glinting golden casket studded with flashing rubies, each at least two inches in diameter. It was too much of an invitation to be other than a trap.

Rachael joined him at the threshold and also peered within. “There is a narrow gap between the plinths of the statues and the walls,” observed the woman. “That is the path we must follow?”

“Yes,” replied Fargo. “I’ll go first.”

Both slid within the narrow space. Carefully, they trod crabwise through the constrictive gap toward the doorway on the other side. Here, a stairway led to the next level of the building. They were about halfway to their goal when Fargo, just in time, spotted the tripwire set at ankle height stretching between the wall and the plinth of a statue.

“There’s a tripwire just here,” he warned Rachael. “Its nearly invisible In the gloom. I almost touched the damn thing with my ankle.”

Then an explosion shook the building. Fargo jumped in fright from the blast. His foot touched the trigger mechanism. An iron blade shot out from the statue’s back like a stabbing sword.

**********

Hunt looked in the building and grinned. The explosives had brought down a section of the wall, revealing the hidden way behind it. “Now, that’s more like it,” he smugly thought.

“All right men,” he said. “Onward to the gold, and then away before the cops get here. Whoever finds it first can have the woman as a bonus.”

His six remaining henchmen yelled their approval. They stumbled over the blasted masonry and raced up the stairs. Hunt followed at a more sedately pace. Very quickly, his bravos reached the landing that had nearly been Rachael’s undoing.

“Careful,” warned one, suddenly remembering. “I’ve heard these tombs have booby traps.”

They peered within. Their eyes went wide as they beheld the glittering gem encrusted casket sitting on its pedestal. Avarice flamed in the black heart of each bravo. The gold and rubies were a siren call to the staring men. All caution was swept aside by greed as they scrambled through the door and gathered around the gleaming casket.

“Look at those gems,” said one.

“Think of what’s inside,” said another as he placed his hand on the lid and opened it.

Iron darts shot forth from all the statues flute-like instruments. Men screamed. They fell, pierced through by unforgiving metal. Hunt watched their end from the safety of the doorway, a pleased expression on his scarred visage. Now he didn’t have to share the treasure with his men.

The trap had been sprung. The room was safe to enter. Hunt walked calmly to the casket and looked inside. It was empty. He picked it up. The box was of gilded wood, not gold. The gems were glass, not rubies. He hurled the fake to the floor in utter rage.

**********

Fargo stood on the step below the landing of the tower’s uppermost floor. When he’d spotted the tripwire, he’d instinctively leaned away from danger, so when the trap was sprung, the blade had grazed his arm, not pierced his heart. He was very lucky to be alive and knew it.

The screams of Hunt’s men were proof that their murderous foes were close behind. Fargo knew they’d sprung the trap that was obvious to him, and Hunt’s wild cursing was evidence that he was still alive. The bandit chief would be upon them in mere seconds, slavering for treasure and revenge.

Fargo, under pressure, looked up. There were no holes above from which spikes could plunge upon them. No tripwire was stretched across the doorway, hinting at some other threat. The landing, however, looked suspicious. It was divided in the middle by a hairline join barely discernible in the dim illumination. It suggested to him the presence of a trapdoor that would drop defilers into a pit of stakes concealed beneath it. Quickly, he explained this to Rachael.

“I’ll leap across and into the room,” he said. “That way, the trap can be circumvented. Take my crossbow and quiver. You can toss them to me and then follow.”

Rachael took the weapons. Fargo jumped and landed in the room. His feet hit the floor, and then the real trapdoor opened. He disappeared into the yawning pit with a terrible cry of fright.

Rachael screamed. Then the wall beside her was blasted by a stun-ray. She screamed again as Hunt rushed furiously up the stairs. The woman, in a panic, vaulted the yawning pit and landed in the final chamber. She looked wildly about. The windowless room was empty but for a stone sarcophagus.

Hunt leaped into the room. Rachael fired, missed. The bandit chief charged the girl. His weapon’s power cell was depleted. He struck aside the barrel of the her gun with the stock of his weapon. Rachael’s second shot went wide. He knocked her to the floor with the butt of his gun, wrenched the rifle from her grasp and hurled it across the room.

She kicked him as he tried to strike her with his weapon. Hunt swore in pain, dropped his gun. They grappled briefly. Rachael was no match for his brutal strength. He pinned her painfully to the floor with his knee in her back, ripped off the rags about her waist and bound her hands behind her with the cloth. He then rolled Rachael on her back and held her down with one hand clamped upon her throat.

“All right,”he growled as he drew his knife. “I’m in no mood for lies. Where’s the treasure? In that sarcophagus over there?” He questioned as he began to caress her breasts with the knife, his blade inflicting shallow cuts across her nipples and areola.

“Please,” gasped Rachael. “These people, the Axkie, weren’t like the Egyptians of Earth. They didn’t bury gold and jewels with their dead. You’ve got to believe me.”

Hunt laughed derisively. “Do you expect me to believe that? All these booby traps must protect something valuable.”

Rachael whimpered as Hunt trailed his knife down her belly, cutting her shallowly. He pushed the tip into her naval, pricking her.

“Please,” she cried, trembling. “The Axkie believed in Oshkef, an invisible creature like a ghoul that ate the newly dead, and hoarded gold and gems. The booby traps and lures, like the casket below, are to protect this mausoleum from supernatural threats.”

Hunt laughed dismissively. The knife descended to the juncture of her thighs. He pressed the tip against her pubic bone.

“Open your legs nice and wide.”

“No,” she screamed. “Oh God. Please don’t. I’m telling the truth. I swear it.”

Hunt tightened his grip on Rachael’s throat, choking her. “Do it,” he yelled.

The sobbing woman complied. Hunt touched the tip of the blade to her prominent clitoris and she wet herself in terror.

“This is your last chance. Start talking or I start slicing.”

A scraping sound made Hunt turn. He saw Fargo levering himself from the pit. The bandit chief cursed in disbelief. He rushed the man and tried to kick him in the head. Fargo caught his foot, jerked savagely. Hunt went down. Fargo scrambled out onto the floor.

Hunt leaped to his feet, lunged, stabbing savagely. Fargo sidestepped the brutal knife thrust. He slammed his foot into Hunt’s ribs. The man stumbled back and fell against the sarcophagus. Spikes sprang out from its top and sides at his touch. One pierced Hunt’s left hand, the one he’d used to stop himself falling on it fully.

Hunt screamed. He jerked free his impaled flesh. With a wild cry of rage he leaped at Fargo, knife flashing down in a mighty right hand stroke. Fargo caught his foe’s rushing limb. But rather than stop the lethal pickaxe strike he cleverly used his hands and body to redirect its swift impetus. The knife missed Fargo, continued its downward sweep, and deeply embedded itself in his opponent’s thigh.

Hunt shrilly screamed as the blade bit into him. As he doubled over in utter agony Fargo grabbed him by the belt and collar, and with a mighty heave tossed him in the pit. The bandit chief howled a final time as he was impaled cruelly by the metal stakes.

The young man looked down to make sure his enemy was dead. When Fargo had fallen in he’d managed to slam his palms and feet against the sides thus arresting his descent. Hunt, wounded, had stood no chance at all.

Fargo turned away from the sickening sight. He ran to Rachael’s side and quickly feed her of her bonds. He gathered her in his strong arms. The traumatized woman clung to him as she wept hysterically.

**********

Two days had passed since the dramatic events of the tower. The local police had eventually arrived and Rachael quickly taken to hospital. Lizard, Fargo’s caw, had also been recovered. The ungainly mount had been found a short distance from the camp munching contentedly on a thorny imari shrub, much to Fargo’s relief. The young man was now assisting the Law with their investigation into the massacre at the dig, which would probably take many weeks to complete.

At the moment he was on his way to visit Rachael, walking along the hospital corridor to her room. She was doing well. Her wounds were healing and the anti-trauma drugs were working. They wouldn’t erase her memories of the horrid ordeal, but they would enable her to remember it without the debilitating emotions such terrible events engender.

As Fargo neared her room he wondered how she was taking the awful news from home. Things had been bad when he’d left Canutis - revolution had been brewing for some time, and this morning’s early broadcast had announced its violent eruption. Rebel forces had attacked the capital, with some units of the military siding with them.

There was fighting in the streets. Evidence was coming in of atrocities. Some of the fortified suburbs of the wealthy had been overrun by vengeful mobs taking advantage of the chaos. People had been dragged from their villas - men hung from trees, women gang raped then murdered. It was an orgy of retribution against those who had ground the poor beneath their uncaring heels. Fargo was glad his parents, who had died peacefully some years ago, hadn’t lived to see the unfolding nightmare.

Fargo arrived at Rachael’s room and brought his mind to the present. The door was open and he looked in. She was sitting up in bed and was watching the news on the teleholograph. The woman saw him and beckoned him to enter.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get her sooner,” he said. “The police had further questions. Are your parents okay?”

“Yes,” she replied. “The good news is that they’re holidaying on the planet Arcadia, and so have escaped the chaos. The bad news is that the government has fallen and those military units loyal to it have surrendered. The rebels are now in full control, and their first decree is the confiscation of all the assets of the wealthy. My family is among those affected. We have nothing left except the clothes on our backs, and if we return to Canutis, we will be arrested because of our ties to the former government. If it weren’t for the medication I’m on, I’d be an utter mess.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” replied Fargo as he pulled up a chair and sat next to her. “I won’t be going back, either. Our society needs reform, but I don’t think a bloody revolution is the answer. It looks like the new government is going to initiate a vengeance-driven purge. Things are going to get worse, and I don’t want to be caught up in it.”

“What will you do?” she asked.

“The police are impressed by the way I handled Hunt and his gang. This is a developing world, and they need useful immigrants. The commander said that she’d support my application for refugee status and that there was a place in the force if I wanted to join. I’ve accepted her offer. It’s not the type of job I really want, but it will help me rebuild my life.”

“You’re lucky,” she said, downcast. “I don’t think there’s much demand for archaeologists on a frontier planet. It’s a pity there wasn’t treasure in that tower. I’ll be penniless when my funds run out. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Oh, I think there was treasure in that tower,” he replied, looking at her meaningfully. “Just not the kind that a man like Hunt would recognize.”

Rachael blushed as Fargo held her hand. “I like you, Rachael,” he said. “I know it may not seem that way. We got off to a bad start, and I said things to you that I deeply regret and apologize for.

“The government here is decent,” he continued earnestly. “They’re not going to send you back to Canutis where you’ll be persecuted, and I’ll help you as well if you like. No strings attached.”

Rachael smiled. “I’d like that very much,” she responded. “I’ll be discharged in about half an hour. Can I take you to lunch? This hospital food is terrible.”

Fargo laughed. “Yes,” he said. “I’d be most happy to join you.”

THE END