Old Mars Read online

  “He hates driving in these landcars. He’ll be here in another minute or two.”

  “Which flyer is ours?” asked Quedipai.

  “That one,” answered Scorpio, pointing to the oldest, most beat-up flyer in the area.

  The Martian gave his race’s equivalent of a frown. “It looks like only the dirt and the rust are holding it together.”

  “If you want to treat us to a new one, be my guest.”

  Suddenly Merlin trotted up. You’ll be pleased to know that the Martian dancer didn’t cry herself to sleep.

  Go ahead, break my heart, responded Scorpio wordlessly. Climb into the flyer and remember you’re a pet. Don’t mess around with the controls.

  “How did he know you were driving to this location?” asked Quedipai.

  “This is the only place in Marsport that I ever drive to,” answered Scorpio.

  Hah!

  He’ll buy it, thought Scorpio confidently. Why would I lie to him? Wait until he knows you better.

  I don’t lie to anyone who’s paying me a quarter million credits to stand guard while he wastes a couple of months looking for something that never existed. Well, not unless I have to, anyway. This should be a piece of cake.

  I don’t eat cake.

  “Shall we climb aboard?” said Scorpio to Quedipai.

  The Martian ascended the stairs to the hatch, and was soon strapping himself into the cocoonlike chair. Scorpio followed suit, didn’t bother checking Merlin, who entered last and refused, as always, to be strapped or secured to anything, and soon they were aloft and heading toward the Crater, which was some seven hundred miles distant.

  “Shouldn’t we head west, then circle around, in case we’re being watched?” asked the Martian.

  Scorpio shook his head. “You’ve come three hundred miles east from New Brussels. Why would you go right back to it? I hope the opposition’s that stupid, but let’s assume they’re not.”

  “I defer to your experience.”

  “Okay,” said Scorpio. “Let me put this thing on autopilot and cruise at nine thousand feet while you show me the map again.”

  Quedipai pulled the map out of his shoulder bag and opened it. “Here is the Crater of Dreams,” he said, pointing to the area. “There are no cities in it, no outposts, nothing.”

  “It looks like there’s a city not five miles to the north of it,” noted Scorpio.

  “A deserted ruin,” answered the Martian.

  “Let’s hope so. Are there any water sources below the ground?”

  “In the Crater?”

  “The Crater, the city, anywhere in the area.”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “So if someone is waiting in the city, they probably figured out that you were coming to the Crater of Dreams,” said Scorpio. “As opposed to waiting indefinitely for someone to come.”

  “It is deserted,” said Quedipai with conviction.

  “If it isn’t, we’ll find out soon enough,” said Scorpio grimly. “Okay, the Crater’s, what, three miles in diameter?”

  “It is thirteen borstas,” replied the Martian.

  Merlin?

  It comes to about two and three-quarters of a mile.

  “It looks flat as a board. Surely if this tomb exists, it’s not thirteen borstas across, so where would you start digging?”

  “I cannot tell you yet.”

  “If you don’t trust me, we might as well call this whole thing off,” said Scorpio.

  The Martian shook his head. “You misunderstand. I cannot tell you because I do not yet know.”

  “When will you know?”

  “Some of the ancient writings that I have uncovered describe certain landmarks.”

  “Cutie Pie, this is going to come as a shock to you, but landmarks change over twenty or thirty millennia,” said Scorpio.

  “Not these,” said Quedipai confidently.

  Does he know what he’s talking about? Scorpio asked Merlin.

  Probably.

  What do you mean, probably? He does or he doesn’t.

  Probably these landmarks still exist.

  You’d better be right. I don’t relish spending the next seven weeks digging holes in the damned Crater.

  “Tell me more about this deserted city,” said Scorpio.

  “Its ancient name was Melafona, but it has had five other names since then. It played host to every Martian civilization except the current one.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?” repeated Quedipai.

  Scorpio nodded. “That means there should be water there, unless that’s why no one lives there anymore. And if there’s water, and it’s deserted, we’ll make it our headquarters.”

  “But it’s more than twenty borstas from where I believe the tomb to be!”

  Scorpio looked at the Martian and sighed. “There have been two attempts on your life. Unless you were dallying with the wrong Martian ladies, we can assume those attacks were either to prevent you or anyone else from finding the tomb, or because the attackers know what you know and want to get there first. Either way, do you think it’s a good idea to camp out, unprotected, on the featureless floor of the Crater of Dreams?”

  “I see,” said Quedipai. “Of course, we shall do what you suggest.”

  “We probably won’t have to walk to the site every day,” said Scorpion. “The flyer’s too small to carry any ground transportation in the cargo hold, but since the city’s been used in the past, we should be able to find or rig some kind of wagon and harness. Merlin likes to feel useful; I’m sure he’ll enjoy pulling us.”

  I think I’ve put off killing and eating you long enough.

  Fine. You and Cutie Pie can sleep out in the middle of the Crater. I’ll walk out from the city every morning and visit your remains.

  “Whatever you say,” agreed Quedipai.

  When they hit the outskirts of the Balthial sea bottom, which marked the halfway point, Scorpio decided to set the flyer down next to the ruins of a deserted village.

  “Why have we landed?” asked the Martian. “We’re still hundreds of miles away.”

  “Remember, I told you we’d waste a day out here in case anyone’s tracking us,” said Scorpio. “We’ll stretch our legs, relax, and grab some lunch.”

  It may not be that easy, warned Merlin.

  Why not?

  There’s a family of carnivores living in the village.

  Big ones?

  I can’t tell. But they’re hungry ones.

  Scorpio climbed down from the flyer, then helped Quedipai out. Merlin leaped lightly to the ground on his own.

  Are they smart enough for you to read their thoughts?

  They’re not sentient, Scorpio. The only thing I read is hunger. It’s been a few days since they made their last kill.

  How many are there?

  Five. Maybe six.

  You can’t tell?

  There may be one who’s too weak from hunger to be transmitting.

  Scorpio walked around to the cargo hold, opened it, and pulled out a sonic blaster. He checked it to make sure it was fully charged, then carried it over to the Martian.

  “You know how to use one of these?” he asked.

  “No,” said Quedipai.

  “Ever seen anyone use it in an entertainment video?”

  “Yes.”

  “Same thing. This is the firing mechanism. Just aim and push this button.”

  “Who are you expecting?”

  “It’s more a bunch of whats than a who,” answered Scorpio. “And make sure you don’t hit Merlin.”

  “Why would I fire at Merlin?” asked Quedipai.

  “He’ll be our first line of defense. If we’re attacked, he’ll be fighting whatever’s attacking us before you even raise the blaster to take aim.”

  Soon. They know we’re here.

  “I’m going to get another weapon out of the cargo hold,” said Scorpio. “Keep on your toes.”

  Quedipai looked puzzled. “I don’t
have any toes,” he said.

  Damn! They’re big!

  Before he could even open the hold the Earthman turned to see five shaggy, bearlike six-legged creatures, each a dull gray, armed with vicious canines and long, curved claws on each foot, slinking out of the city and spreading out, as if to cut off all escape routes.

  Quedipai was shaking like a leaf, so Scorpio walked over to him and took the sonic blaster, which the Martian relinquished gratefully.

  Who’s the leader? he asked Merlin.

  Second from the left.

  He’s the smallest of the lot.

  He’s a she, and the Martian duxbollahs live in matriarchies.

  Scorpio aimed the blaster at the female and pressed the firing mechanism. She screamed in pain and surprise as she was hurled ten feet through the thin Martian air by an almost solid wall of sound. The other duxbollahs looked around nervously, trying to pinpoint the enemy that had sent their leader flying, never associating it with Scorpio and his weapon.

  No sense letting them get organized. Wish me luck.

  No sooner had Merlin sent the thought than he launched himself at the still-groggy female, ripping into her with claws and fangs. She tried to fight back, but it was clear that the Venusian was slowly tearing her to pieces. Finally, uttering a shrill scream, she turned tail and raced back to the ruins. The four males hesitated for a moment. Then Merlin charged the largest of them. He immediately followed the female, and the other three also raced back to the ruins in a wide semicircle that took them as far from Merlin as possible while still heading for safety. The Venusian loped after them in a leisurely manner to make sure they didn’t change their minds, then turned around and returned to the ship.

  “Still wonder why he came along?” asked Scorpio with a smile.

  “He’s quite awesome,” said Quedipai. “I didn’t think there was any animal around that could scare off five duxbollahs at once.”

  Did I hear right? Did he just call me an animal?

  For what he’s paying, he can call you a lot worse than that. Just keep an eye out in case those things return. They’re not going to get any less hungry in the next couple of hours.

  “Let’s keep alert for hungry visitors,” said Scorpio to Quedipai. “And in the meantime, tell me a little more about what you think you’re going to find.”

  “As I told you: the Tomb of the Martian Kings—and hopefully, inside the tomb, the Book of Blaxorak.”

  “There have been a lot of Martian kings over the eons,” said Scorpio. “Why are these so much more difficult to find? This isn’t a very big planet, and it hasn’t got all that many weird places where you could successfully hide a tomb for thirty or forty thousand years.”

  “They are more than well hidden,” answered Quedipai. “If my research and our legends are correct, they are protected.”

  “Protected?” repeated Scorpio. “By who or by what?”

  “They are the tombs of the Krang Dynasty,” said the Martian. “The Krang were a special race. Some say they were not even native to the planet but that a small handful came here and conquered the entire world in something less than a year. They built no cities and left no edifices, which suggests that they were … visitors.”

  “As far as I can tell, you were always a warrior culture until your wars finally almost destroyed the whole damned planet. What kind of special race could conquer you in under a year?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted Quedipai. “They were said to be huge, but that could be relative. Huge compared to what? I assume if they had the technology to come here from another world, they doubtless possessed weaponry in advance of ours, and there are hints, rumors, legends, that the Book of Blaxorak gave them powers that were so close to being supernatural as to make no difference.”

  “But you don’t know for sure that they did come from another world,” Scorpio continued.

  “True. Nor do I know why they all died or vanished—or left in a short period of time. Those are some of the answers I hope to discover when we find the tomb.”

  “If we find the tomb.”

  “If we find the tomb,” amended Quedipai. “But I truly think we will. I have been studying the Krang for most of my adult life.”

  “Can I ask a question?” said Scorpio.

  “Certainly.”

  “Why?” he said. “If they existed at all, they lived tens of thousands of years ago. They were here just long enough to conquer the planet, after which they left or went extinct. As far as I can tell, they left nothing behind—no artifacts, no monuments, nothing but a few myths and legends. Why spend your whole life trying to learn about them?”

  “We are not all creatures of action like you and your friend.”

  “My friend?” repeated Scorpio.

  “Merlin. It is now obvious that you are in psychic or telepathic rapport with him.”

  Well, good for you, Quedipai! thought the Venusian.

  “Anyway, I learned what I could about you before I approached you, Scorpion,” continued Quedipai. “You have been to all of the inner planets, as well as Triton, Titan, Ganymede, Io, and Europa. You clearly have a desire to see what lies beyond the next planet. I, too, am interested in the next world. My worlds are just defined differently than yours.”

  “Makes sense when you put it that way,” said Scorpio.

  Quedipai turned to Merlin. “And I apologize for thinking you were merely an animal.”

  Merlin stared at him and remained motionless.

  Come on, thought Scorpio. He’s apologizing. Lick his hand or something.

  That’s disgusting. Maybe I’ll just bite off six or seven of his fingers. Martians have too many fingers anyway.

  “He appreciates your apology and accepts it,” said Scorpio aloud.

  “Good, I would hate for him to be annoyed with me.”

  What has annoyed got to do with it? I’ll face five duxbollahs a day for my half of what he’s paying us.

  I had no idea you valued money was Scorpio’s sardonic thought. I thought you were a superior species.

  We are. But we need money when dealing with inferior species, like Earthmen.

  “Did the Krang leave any written records?” asked Scorpio.

  “They themselves? No. But some of the races they conquered did. The question remains: How much of those records can we believe?”

  “Why not all of them if they were written by the Krang’s contemporaries?”

  Quedipai allowed himself the luxury of a very toothy smile, one of the few Martian smiles Scorpio had ever seen. “Tell me, Scorpion, are you a Christian?”

  “Not much of one,” answered Scorpio with a shrug.

  “Did Jesus say the things that are credited to him? After all, they were reported by his disciples—but were they reported accurately?”

  Another shrug. “Who the hell knows?”

  And another smile from Quedipai. “Now you know the problem we have with the Krang. Are the writings factual, or myths, firsthand or hearsay?”

  “Okay, I see,” replied Scorpio. “The subject is closed.”

  “Until we enter the tomb.”

  “Let’s not worry about entering it until after we find it.”

  They waited by the flyer until twilight, not wanting to wander too far from it while the duxbollahs were still nearby. Then Scorpio announced that they were ready to leave, and soon the flyer was heading toward the Crater again.

  “You are a very thorough man,” said Quedipai, as Scorpio kept checking to make sure there were no other planes aloft anywhere near them.

  “The graveyards are filled with men who weren’t thorough,” replied the Earthman.

  Merlin, check a map back there and see if this city we’re heading to has got a landing field.

  This is a sophisticated flyer, answered Merlin. You don’t need one.

  I know. But if there’s a landing field, it stands to reason that there’s a hangar. Why leave the flyer out where anyone can see it?

  I’ll look. I won
der if they even had flyers back then.

  And a moment later came the answer.

  No luck.

  All right. It was worth a try.

  “Has this city we’re heading to got a name?” Scorpio asked the Martian.

  “It has had several,” said Quedipai. “In the days of the Krang rulers, it was Melafona. Later, during the Sixth Pleistar Dynasty, it became Bechitil. And its last name, before it was sacked a little over five centuries ago, was Rastipotal.” He sighed. “And today it has no name at all. Even when it appears on maps, it is designated only as the abandoned ruin of a deserted city.”

  “Given the area it covers, it looks like it might have held half a million people, maybe more,” said Scorpio.

  “It did once,” confirmed the Martian.

  “Why has it been standing empty for the last few centuries? Did the populace get tired of being sacked?”

  “You know very little of Martian history, Scorpion,” said Quedipai.

  “I skipped that course of studies,” said Scorpio.

  You skipped school entirely.

  “The war of five centuries ago is known informally as the Germ War,” said Quedipai. “It was fought not with guns and explosives, not with heat rays and sonic weapons, but with living viruses that wiped out entire populations. And those that didn’t die were genetically mutated. They produced a generation of malformed monsters, and there was a planetary purge of them.” His face tensed. “It is the era of which almost every Martian is least proud.”

  “I can see why,” said Scorpio. “Well, that explains why the city is empty … if it is.”

  “There is no way to find out, short of landing and exploring it,” said the Martian.

  “Merlin will tell us,” said Scorpio. “It would be nice if something was living there—a Martian, a duxbollah, something.”

  Quedipai frowned in puzzlement. “Why?”

  “I’d like some physical proof that the virus that wiped out the city is gone, or dead, or so weak it can’t harm whatever’s living here.”

  “It is safe,” said the Martian. “Its art treasures reside in the museum that is associated with my university. Somebody was able to procure them and bring them back unharmed.”

  “For all you know, they were removed before the virus was unleashed, or possibly they were collected by men … well, Martians … in protective suits.”