Old Mars

In the Tombs of the Martian Kings MIKE RESNICK

IT WAS CROWDED IN RAZZO THE SLUG’S.

There was no reason why it should be. There were twenty-three ramshackle bars surrounding Marsport, each with a don’t-hear-don’t-tell policy, but for some reason Razzo’s was the one that was always crowded.

Razzo himself wasn’t much to look at. It was Cemetery Smith who’d first remarked that he looked like a slug, and it stuck. No one knew where he came from, though it was clear from his accent and some of his mannerisms that it wasn’t from any of the inner planets. Not that anyone cared as long as he didn’t water his whiskey too much, provided an endless array of dancing girls from half a dozen worlds and moons, and made sure that nothing he heard was ever repeated.

The bar was long, made of some gleaming alien metal, and different sections raised or lowered as it sensed the size of the various races sidling up to it. On the wall behind the bar was a large holographic representation of whatever world Razzo had come from, and it usually made the assembled drinkers glad that they’d never set foot on it. There were two robotic bartenders, but Razzo spent most of his time behind the bar as well. The common assumption was that he stayed there to make sure the robots didn’t fill the glasses too high.

Right at the moment, Razzo’s was playing host to fifteen Martians, a dozen Venusians, a pair of miners from Titan, two more from Ganymede, and a scattering of Earthmen. The only one who drew any notice was the Scorpion, and that was mostly because of his companion.

The Scorpion’s real name, which hardly anyone ever knew or used, was Marcus Aurelius Scorpio. He was tall, a good six or seven inches over six feet, and lean, and hard. He had a thick shock of brown hair that was just starting to show specks of gray, a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and pale blue eyes, so pale they seemed colorless from certain angles.

He was dressed in nondescript browns and tans, and he made no attempt to hide the burner he carried in a small holster on his hip. Most observers couldn’t tell that he had a smaller one tucked in the back of his belt and a wicked-looking knife in one boot.

There was really nothing about him to attract any attention—except for the creature lying on the floor at his feet. At first, it seemed like a dog, but there weren’t any dogs on Mars, and certainly not any that approached the size of a lion. It had four nostrils—two in front, one on each cheek—eyes that seemed to glow even though they were totally shielded from the dim lights, and a tail that ended in such a sharp point that it could very well be used as a weapon. The animal was covered by a dull blue curly down, and when it yawned, it displayed a double row of coal-black fangs.

All the patrons gave the table—and the creature—a wide berth. The diminutive Mercurian waiter, who was used to him, paid him no attention as he brought Scorpio a drink and continued making his round of the tables.

Scorpio lit one of the local cigars, took a puff, and settled back to watch a Martian woman gyrate in a slow dance that looked awkward to him but was clearly driving the Martian customers wild. The music wasn’t quite atonal but was so alien that he was sure he couldn’t hum it if he heard it around the clock for a week.

Scorpio sipped his drink, trying not to make a face as it burned his throat on the way down, and puffed away on his cigar. After a minute, he pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to the blue creature, which caught it, chewed it as it made loud, cracking sounds, and finally swallowed it.

The Martian girl’s dance ended, the Martians in the audience cheered and uttered those strange hoots that were unique to their species, and then a girl from Io climbed onto the stage to complete indifference.

The Martian girl was walking to a dressing room behind the bar, but she stopped at Scorpio’s table.

“You are here again, Scorpion,” she said.

“I like to visit my money,” he replied.

“Did you like my dance?”

“It was unique.”

“Perhaps I should perform another, just for you.”

“I’m always open to new experiences,” said Scorpio.

This is silly, said a voice inside Scorpio’s head. Tell her to go away.

Scorpio looked down at the blue creature. Do I interfere in your sex life? he thought.

Damn it, Scorpio! Why are you wasting time? She’s a Martian, for Podak’s sake. She couldn’t accommodate you even if she tried.

Scorpio smiled a very cynical smile. Love will find a way.

“You’re talking to your dog again,” said the girl.

“He’s not a dog, and you haven’t heard me say a word.”

“You lie to me,” she said. “All the time you lie to me.”

“Of course I do,” answered Scorpio. “We’re in Razzo the Slug’s. It might even be against the law to tell the truth here.”

She uttered a Martian obscenity. “Earthman!” she added contemptuously, stalking off.

Happy? asked Scorpio.

Thrilled, came the answer. By the way, someone’s looking for you.

The girl went and got a weapon?

The creature snorted. By the door. The Martian with the bag.

Scorpio looked across the bar at a Martian who had just entered. He was small, stooped over (which was rare in the lighter gravity), showing signs of age, and carrying a cloth bag over what passed for his shoulder.

You’re sure he’s for me? thought Scorpio.

Of course I’m sure, came the reply. Not everyone requires speech to communicate, you know. Some of us evolved beyond that eons ago.

Then why were you living in a swamp when we met? asked Scorpio with that unique, not quite humorless, smile of his.

Why are you in a bar with criminals and reprobates from all over the solar system? I went to the swamp where the food was, and you go where the money is so you can buy the food, an extra step my race has no use for.

Scorpio stared down at the creature. So why do you hang around with such a primitive being as me?

You’re the deadliest being I have ever encountered, came the answer. There’s always the chance of fresh food when I’m with you.

Scorpio watched the Martian approach. Okay, you’re the telepath. What does he want?

He’s come a long way. I’ll let him tell you.

Why bother? I’m just going to send him packing.

I don’t think so, replied the creature.

Then the Martian reached the table and stood there, staring uneasily at Scorpio.

“You are the Scorpion?” he asked hesitantly.

Scorpio nodded. Then he remembered that most Martians didn’t know that nodding was an affirmative. “Some people call me that, yes.”

“May I … May I sit down?” asked the Martian, indicating an empty chair opposite Scorpio.

“Go ahead.”

The Martian took a step toward the chair, then realized that he would have to pass very close to the blue creature. He froze and just stared at it, afraid to move.

“It’s all right,” said Scorpio when he realized that the Martian might well stand there motionless all night. “His name’s Merlin. He’s my pet.”

Your pet?

Why tell anyone what you really are? It works to our advantage to have them think you’re a dumb animal.

I may just bite your leg off.

“I have never seen anything like him,” said the Martian timidly.

“Not many people have,” replied Scorpio, as the Martian carefully walked around Merlin and seated himself. “What can I do for you?”

“I have been told that you are the one being best suited for the work I am preparing to do,” said the Martian.

Who does he want killed, I wonder? said Merlin wordlessly.

You could tell me right now.

Me? I’m just a dumb animal.

“Just what kind of work do you have in mind?” asked Scorpio.

“Perhaps I should properly introduce myself first.”

Scorpio shrugged. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“My name is Quedipai, and I spent more than a century as a professor of ancient history at the university in Baratora, which you know as New Brussels.”

“Okay, so you taught history and you’re not a kid anymore,” said Scorpio. “What has this got to do with me?”

Quedipai leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I believe that I have discovered the location of the lost Tomb of the Martian Kings.”

Scorpio snorted contemptuously. “Sure you have.”

“But I have!”

“On my world, it’s King Solomon’s Mines. On Venus, it’s the Temple of the Forgotten Angel. On Mercury, it’s the Darkside Palace. And on Mars, it’s the Tomb of the Martian Kings.”

“There have been two attempts on my life already,” said Quedipai. “I need protection. More than that. I am an academic. I need someone who is aware of all the hazards I will encounter in the wildest section of the western dead sea bottom, and who can avoid or neutralize the worst of it.”

“I wish you luck,” said Scorpio.

“You will not accompany me?”

“Not interested.”

“You have not heard my offer yet.”

“I’ve been to the western sea bottom. It’s called Balthial, and whoever told you it was dangerous understated the case,” said Scorpio. “I’m happy right here.”

“Will you at least let me name a price?” said Quedipai.

“Buy me another whiskey and you can talk your head off.”

“What kind?” asked the Martian, getting to his feet.

Scorpio held his empty glass up and studied it. “I’m tired of this stuff. I’ll have a glass of that bluish joyjoice they brew in Luna City.”

The Martian went to the bar and returned with a glass, which he set down carefully on the table in front of Scorpio, then took his seat.

“It’s smoking,” he noted.

“It’s old enough,” replied Scorpio, lifting the glass and taking a swallow.

“You are not my last chance, Scorpion,” said the Martian. “But from everything I’ve been able to find out, and I am a very thorough researcher, you are my best chance.” Scorpio stared at him patiently and with very little interest. Finally, he took a deep breath, leaned forward, and said so softly that no one else could hear: “Four hundred thousand tjoubi, the hunt not to exceed fifty days.”

Quick, thought Scorpio. What’s that in real money?

A quarter of a million credits, answered Merlin.

You can read his mind. Is he telling the truth, and has he actually got the money?

Yes, and yes.

Scorpio stared at the Martian. “What was your name again?”

“Quedipai,” was the answer.

“Cutie Pie,” said Scorpio.

“Quedipai,” repeated the Martian.

“Right,” said Scorpio, nodding. “Cutie Pie, you’ve got yourself a deal. Half down, half on completion, and we’re yours for the next fifty days.”

Quedipai pulled out a sheaf of large-denomination bills. Scorpio took it and stuffed it in a pocket.

Don’t you want to count it?

Flash that much in Razzo’s? Don’t be silly. We’ll count it later. If he’s short, we’re not going anywhere till he makes it up.

“You mentioned ‘we’?” asked the Martian curiously.

“Merlin and me. Like I told you, he’s my pet.”

Quedipai stared at the creature.

You wouldn’t believe what he’s thinking right now.

“Trust me,” said Scorpio, “if we run into any trouble, you’ll be glad he came along.”

“I will take your word for it,” said the Martian. He took the bag from his shoulder and placed it on the table. “Is it safe to show this to you now?”

“If I can’t protect you in a bar, I sure as hell can’t protect you once we leave what passes for civilization around here,” answered Scorpio.

Quedipai reached into the bag and pulled out a very old map. He opened it and spread it on the table.

“Okay,” said Scorpio, “it’s Balthial.”

“Do you see this small mark here?” asked the Martian, pointing a triply jointed finger toward it.

“Looks like a speck of dust.”

“It is three miles across.”

“Okay,” said Scorpio, unimpressed. “There’s a three-mile speck of dust on the sea bottom.”

“I cannot give you an accurate translation,” said Quedipai. “The closest I can come is the Crater of Dreams.”

Scorpio frowned. “I’ve heard of that, a long time ago.”

“Some say that it was caused by an asteroid,” said Quedipai. “Others say it is the result of an ancient war when we had horrific weapons that are completely forgotten today. Still others say it occurred when an underground city collapsed beneath it.”

“And what do you say?” asked Scorpio, staring not at the map but the Martian.

“I say it was caused by the fist of God.”

“Why should you think so?”

“My race is not the first to inhabit this world,” answered Quedipai. “Before us, there was a race that strode across Mars like the giants they were. A tall man like you would not come up to the waist of even the smallest of them. Nothing could stand in their way, but soon their triumphs made them arrogant. It was when they decided that they themselves must be gods that the true God brought His fist down and flattened their kingdom with a single blow.”

“Did you learn this in history class or in church?” asked Scorpio sardonically.

“You do not believe me, of course,” said the Martian.

“For four hundred thousand tjoubi, I’ll believe you for fifty days and nights, starting”—he checked his timepiece—“four minutes ago.”

“I do not blame you for your doubts,” said Quedipai. “Until last week, I shared them.”

If he tells me he had a vision, I’m quitting, money or no money.

Just listen to him, responded Merlin.

“We have many religions on Mars,” began Quedipai. “Most of them stem from historical incidents, or occasionally the origins of these beliefs can be found in the works of the great philosophers. But there is one religion—it is pronounced Blaxorak; there is no translation or approximation for it in Terran—that has survived longer than any other. Its temples have all been demolished, its monuments torn down and broken into rubble, only the sacred Book of Blaxorak still exists. And in the rarest and most obscure of our ancient writings, I have found enough clues to convince me that answers can be found in the Crater of Dreams.”

Scorpio frowned. “What answers?”

“The clues I have put together lead me to believe that the Tomb of the Martian Kings actually exists in or beneath the Crater, and within the golden tombs, I will find the one remaining copy of the sacred Book of Blaxorak, interred with the greatest of the kings. Even if the existence of the book is a myth, even if there is no truth to it whatsoever and there is nothing but a series of empty tombs, it will still be the most important historical find of the millennium.”

“Golden tombs, did you say?” said Scorpio.

“Jewel-encrusted,” replied Quedipai.

Is he telling the truth?

He believes that he is, answered Merlin.

And he’s really a scholar who specializes in this stuff?

Yes.

“Where are you staying?” asked Scorpio out loud.

“At the hotel across the street.”

“The Fallen Torch?” said Scorpio.

“Yes.”

“I suggest you go there right now and get some sleep. I plan to start this expedition at daybreak tomorrow.”

“But I have more to show and tell you,” protested the Martian.

“You’ll show and tell me along the way,” replied Scorpio. “Suddenly I’m anxious to get this show on the road.”

“But I’ve barely mentioned—”

“Your wildly evocative descriptions bring the past back to life and make me want to see it for myself,” said Scorpio, getting to his feet. “Come on, Merlin.”

“Where shall we meet?” asked the Martian.

“I’ll pick you up in your lobby at sunrise,” said Scorpio. He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “Pay my bar bill before you leave, Cutie Pie.”

Scorpio had counted out the money, the total was correct, and he drove Quedipai to the airfield in the morning.

“I have the coordinates right here,” announced the Martian, indicating his shoulder bag.

“Keep them where they are,” replied Scorpio, climbing out of the three-wheeled iron-plated vehicle, a leftover from a recent war.

“But surely you didn’t study the map long enough to pinpoint the location!” protested Quedipai.

“That’s right.”

“Then—?”

“You told me there have already been two attempts on your life,” said Scorpio, lighting a cigar. “Were you just trying to impress me, or were you telling the truth?”

“I do not lie,” said the Martian with all the dignity he could muster.

“Then that means that someone besides you thinks you know where the Tomb of the Martian Kings is,” continued Scorpio, “and you don’t have to be a master scientist to be able to track a planet-bound flyer once it’s aloft. We’ll land a couple of hundred miles from the edge of the Crater and waste a day there before we head toward it, just to put anyone who’s watching us off the scent. I’ll have plenty of time to study the map.”

Quedipai’s dark eyes opened wide. “I never considered that.”

“You don’t have to,” answered Scorpio. “That’s what you’re paying me for.”

“I chose the right person for the job.”

“Let’s hope so,” said Scorpio. “We’ll leave as soon as Merlin arrives.”

“He is missing?”

“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 wonder 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.”

“Then perhaps we should stay in the Crater, as I originally wanted.”

“We’ll decide when the time comes,” answered Scorpio.

They soon were cruising low over the city, looking for a likely landing spot, and Scorpio found one right in the city center. He set the flyer down gently, killed the lights and motor, sat still for a few moments, and finally turned to Merlin.

Well?

I don’t think—began the Venusian. Then he suddenly tensed. Wait! We’re in luck!

What is it?

Merlin frowned as he concentrated. Three thieves, on the run from the law.

Martians?

Two from Titan, and an Earthman.

How long have they been hiding here?

Six days.

And they’re still healthy? Okay, we can leave the flyer.

“Looks a little like Pompeii, or maybe that deserted city on Mercury’s dark side,” commented Scorpio, staring at their surroundings.

“If you say so,” replied Quedipai. “I have never been off the planet.”

“It’s an interesting solar system,” said Scorpio. “You should try to see some of it.”

“We each have our passions. Mine is—”

“I know,” Scorpio interrupted. “Merlin, how close are they?”

“They?” repeated the Martian uneasily.

“Three outlaws, hiding from the authorities,” answered Scorpio.

“Is it safe?”

“They’ve been here long enough to prove that the city’s probably safe from any virus. Whether we’re safe from them is another matter.”

“Perhaps we should stay in the ship,” suggested Quedipai uneasily.

“They know where we are. I’d like to know where they are too.” He turned to the Venusian. “How about it, Merlin?”

I’m trying to pinpoint them. It’s more difficult with Titanians than with most races.

“I’ve been sitting here long enough,” said Scorpio, opening the hatch and jumping down to the ground. He helped Quedipai down, then stood aside as Merlin leaped out and landed lightly.

I love this gravity, thought the Venusian.

“Avast there!” cried a human voice.

“Avast?” repeated Scorpio, half-smiling. “Do people still say ‘Avast’?”

“Who are you and what’s your business here?” continued the voice.

“Just some travelers looking for a place to rest,” answered Scorpio, still unable to see the man who was speaking.

“You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want,” said the voice.

“Thanks.”

“For ten thousand credits a night,” added the voice.

“Does that include running water and kitchen privileges?” asked Scorpio, withdrawing his burner.

The voice laughed. “I like you, fellow Earthman!” it said. “It would be a shame to kill you over something as trivial as a few thousand credits. Put the burner away, pull out your money, and we can all be friends.”

“All?” said Scorpio.

“Did I neglect to mention that you’re surrounded?”

“By two naked monkeys from Titan and an Earthman who hasn’t got the courage to show himself?” replied Scorpio. “I may just faint dead away from fear.”

Where are the other two?

One’s twenty degrees to the left of where you’re facing, the other is thirty degrees to the right.

I don’t know from degrees. Give me a reference point.

One’s in front of the doorway to the crystal building on the left, and if you follow the right wing of the flyer straight out seventy meters you’ll find the other one.

You’d better be right, thought Scorpio, pointing his burner at the crystal building, pressing the firing mechanism, and moving the barrel so that it covered the entire front of the building.

There was an inhuman scream. Scorpio dropped to one knee, fired where the right wing of the flyer was pointing, and was rewarded with a wail of agony an instant later.

“I’ll kill you for that!” cried the human voice.

Stand next to me—quick!

Scorpio grabbed Quedipai and pulled him over to where Merlin was crouching. The ground where they had been standing exploded a second later.

“Nice try,” yelled Scorpio. “But now you’re outnumbered three to one. Maybe you’d like to call it quits. Just put ten thousand credits on the ground and walk away safe and sound.”

He was answered by a curse and another explosion, this one blowing the landing gear off the flyer.

“We’d better do something soon,” said Scorpio softly. “If he hits the ship broadside, we’re hundreds of miles from any transportation.”

“He must have transport,” offered Quedipai. “He couldn’t have walked here if he’s trying to elude the law. And the natives of Titan are bigger than Earthmen, so clearly his transport can accommodate all three of us.”

“Cutie Pie, you’re getting better at this all the time,” said Scorpio. “Okay, Merlin, we won’t worry about the ship. Let’s just concentrate on taking him out.”

But the Venusian was no longer there.

“Here!” said Scorpio urgently, handing his burner to Quedipai. “Start firing it nonstop, and aim about ten or fifteen feet above the ground.” The Earthman got the sonic blaster and began doing the same.

“I assume there’s a reason for this,” said Quedipai.

“Merlin’s gone,” said Scorpio. “That means he’s after the man, and we don’t want to hit him by accident. We just want the man to be concentrating on us.”

“Will Merlin be able to find him?”

Scorpio nodded as he continued firing. “His eyesight’s none too good, and his sense of smell is no better than mine, but somehow he can home in on thoughts. Any politician would want to shoot him on sight.”

The far side of the flyer took a direct hit and caved in.

“Damn!” muttered Scorpio. “He’s getting close.”

Distract him.

He’d damned well better have come in a flyer, thought Scorpio. Aloud he said: “Cutie Pie, turn the burner on the flyer!”

“What?” said the Martian, confused.

“Just do it!” snapped Scorpio as he aimed the sonic blaster at it and blew out all the windows.

Quedipai followed suit, and a second later the interior to the flyer was ablaze.

And almost instantaneously, they heard a single hideous scream from about ninety yards away in the darkness.

“Okay, you can stop now,” said Scorpio.

“We were creating a distraction, were we not?” asked Quedipai.

“Well, a confusion, anyway,” replied Scorpio.

A moment later, Merlin trotted back to the ship.

“You okay?”

A little bruised, but that will just make dinner taste all the better.

Dinner?

Don’t ask.

What about their weapons?

Old and not very efficient. Ours are better.

I trust you destroyed them?

Of course.

“Well,” announced Scorpio, “there’s no sense staying in or near what’s left of the ship. Let’s see what the city has to offer in the way of lodging.”

The three of them set off to explore the ruins. The first order of business was to find the outlaws’ flyer, and they accomplished that in ten minutes. The outlaws’ hideout was just some fifty yards away. They had raced out the second they realized Scorpio was preparing to land, and they’d left their quarters—the ground floor of an ancient building—illuminated, which made it stand out in the dark. There was a beat-up landcar parked nearby, and Scorpio checked it to make sure it was working, then led his companions into the building. There were bedrolls on the floor, the Earthman had brought along several days of condensed rations, and Quedipai assured his companions that he and Merlin could both eat some of the Titanians’ food with no ill effects.

“We might as well set up housekeeping here,” announced Scorpio. He examined the walks and floor, found a loose floorboard, and stared down beneath it. “I assume no one else is likely to show up, but just the same I’d advise you to leave anything you don’t want to carry and don’t want stolen in this storage area below the floorboard.”

Quedipai walked over to a bedroll, adjusted it so that he could sit and lean against it as it covered the lower section of a wall, and gingerly lowered himself to the floor. Scorpio lay down on a similar bedroll at the far end of the room.

Merlin walked to the doorway. I’ll be back later.

You’re really going to eat an Earthman?

The Venusian wrinkled his nose. Have you ever tried to clean one of those things? I’m off to dine on uncooked Titanian.

And then Merlin was gone, the other two fell asleep, and when they awoke, it was morning and Merlin was sleeping by the doorway.

“Shall we have some breakfast before we begin?” suggested Scorpio.

“I’m too excited to eat!” responded Quedipai. “I’m finally here!”

“You’re going to be a little less excited and a little hungrier after we traipse across the floor of the Crater,” said Scorpio.

“I’ll bring food with me.”

How about you?

I’m dying. My eyes were bigger than my stomach.

Given the size of that bloated section of your body, your eyes must be larger than basketballs.

Whatever they are.

Merlin got painfully to his feet. Scorpio stared at him and smiled.

You ate both of them? Didn’t your parents ever teach you moderation?

Go ahead, make fun of me. I’ll remember this the next time someone’s trying to kill you.

“Shall we begin?” asked Quedipai, walking to the door.

“If we can,” agreed Scorpio, still grinning at his partner.

The three of them walked outside to the landcar and climbed in.

They followed the street, which curved back into itself, took another route that soon ended at a building with no discernible entrance, and after two more false starts, finally found a route to the edge of the city. Scorpio kept melting edges of buildings with his burner so that they could find their way back at the end of the day, and made a mental note to be sure to return before it was totally dark and he couldn’t see the marks he was making.

In another fifteen minutes, they had left the ancient city of Melafona—it had many names, but Scorpio liked the oldest of them—and had taken their first steps on the flat, reddish sand that covered the floor of the Crater.

A comet, do you think? suggested Merlin.

Too big and too fast; not enough damage here. Probably an asteroid, or more likely just part of one. Back then Mars had a little more atmosphere; it would have burned up a good part of it before it hit.

“So,” said Scorpio aloud, “where are these landmarks?”

“You are looking at one of them,” replied Quedipai, indicating a jagged red peak at the far side of the Crater.

“That thing was here eons before your Krang,” remarked Scorpio.

“Of course,” answered the Martian. “It couldn’t have been in the ancient writings if it was not itself ancient.”

“Point taken.” Scorpio looked around. “What else?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What other landmarks are we looking for?”

“We shall find one of them at the north end of the Crater.”

Scorpio pulled out his positioning device. “Okay, we’re about three-quarters of a mile away from it,” he said, angling off to his left.

They stopped after ten minutes, and Quedipai began walking around the area, examining the ground ahead of them. Finally his entire body tensed.

“I think …” he began. “Yes! Yes, it is!”

“What do you see?” asked Scorpio.

“My second landmark,” said Quedipai, pointing just ahead of them. “Study it and you will see it too!”

“Son of a bitch!” said Scorpio. “I do see it.”

They approached a totally flat, perfectly circular rock some eight feet in diameter. It was mostly covered by the shifting Martian sand, but once Scorpio realized what it was, it seemed to jump out at him.

“I was right!” said Quedipai with obvious satisfaction. “I was right.”

“Okay, what next?” asked Scorpio.

“We proceed eighty-three paces due west from the westernmost part of the circumference.”

Scorpio began measuring off the steps.

“No,” said Quedipai.

“What’s the matter?”

“It was measured by a Martian. My steps are shorter than yours.”

“All right,” said Scorpio, moving aside while Quedipai walked the eighty-three paces.

Scorpio and Merlin joined him and looked around.

“I don’t see any tombs,” said the Earthman.

“You won’t,” answered Quedipai. “They are buried beneath the surface of the Crater.”

Scorpio stared at him. “Do you see an entrance?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” repeated Scorpio, frowning.

“That is correct,” said Quedipai. He pulled some foodstuffs out of his shoulder bag. “I might as well have some nourishment, since we cannot leave this spot.”

“Before you eat anything, I think an explanation is in order.”

“When the sun is ten degrees past its peak, all will be revealed,” said the Martian, then added softly, “I hope.”

“And that’s all you plan to tell us?” said Scorpio.

“I could be wrong.”

“We’re being paid whether you’re right or wrong, so it makes very little difference to us.”

“It means everything to me,” responded Quedipai.

Scorpio decided that further questioning would be fruitless and sat down cross-legged on the Crater floor.

Do I have to watch him eat? complained Merlin.

No, you can crawl off and die in splendid isolation if you prefer.

I hate you.

I didn’t eat two entire citizens of Titan.

If I’m still alive, wake me at noon. Merlin closed his eyes.

Scorpio wished he’d brought a book along, though he didn’t know why since he hadn’t read one in years. Finally, he settled for just staring at the peak and fondly remembering a seemingly endless series of women, some human, some not, all of whom he was sure at one time or another that he loved, none of whom he loved enough to settle down and remain in one place.

He checked the sky now and then, and when the sun was directly overhead he got to his feet.

“Can you confide in me yet?” he said.

“Soon,” whispered the Martian.

Merlin was on his feet too, and his bloated belly was back to its normal size. Scorpio marveled once again at how much the Venusian could eat, and how quickly he could digest it.

The three of them stood, waiting, for twenty, thirty, forty minutes, then—

“Now!” cried Quedipai, pointing—and suddenly a shadow appeared, stretching from his feet to a previously unseen crevice in the wall of the Crater. “There is where the entrance will be!”

He actually knew, thought Merlin. Who’d have guessed it?

They approached the crevice, and, as they did so, the sun glinted off something that clearly wasn’t part of the Crater wall.

“Looks like metal,” said Scorpio.

“The top of a railing,” confirmed the Martian.

Scorpio approached it and found himself looking down a long, spiral staircase, the bottom of which was lost in shadows.

“I have found it!” said Quedipai, more to himself than his companions. “They scoffed, and they laughed, and they disbelieved, but I have found it!”

“What you’ve found in the entrance to something,” said Scorpio, shining a light down the stairs. “Let’s go find out what it is.”

“I will lead,” announced the Martian, beginning to descend the stairs.

Anything alive down there?

Nothing sentient. I think I sense some animals, but I can’t tell what kind.

Given the bad light, they’d better be cuddly.

Scorpio fell into step behind Quedipai. They descended some sixty feet, but to their surprise, they were not immersed in total darkness. The walls seemed to glow with some luminescent property. The light wasn’t bright, but at least they could see their way around, and Scorpio turned off his own light.

Suddenly, Scorpio reached forward and grabbed Quedipai by the shoulders, pulling him backward until the Martian was sitting awkwardly on the stairs.

“Why did you do that?” he demanded angrily. “I told you I would lead.”

“Yeah,” said Scorpio, “but I thought you’d like your head and your body to lead in concert.”

“What are you talking about?”

Scorpio pointed to a thin, knife-sharp, almost invisible metal fiber stretched across the stairway. “You walk into that at normal speed, moving down the stairs, you’ll be decapitated.”

“I apologize for my outburst of temper,” said Quedipai. He stared at the fiber. “How did you know to look for it?”

Scorpio pointed to a headless Martian body at the base of the stairway, which was finally visible. “You aren’t the first one to enter this place.”

Merlin edged past them, descended the stairs, and examined the body.

It’s mummified. It’s been here at least for centuries, possibly for millennia.

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs and walked around the body, Scorpio turned to Quedipai. “That’s probably not the only booby trap down here. You’d better let me go first. Merlin will guard the rear.”

“I consent,” replied the Martian.

Scorpio withdrew his burner and began walking along the corridor that led from the stairwell. The corridor twisted and turned but never branched off, so he had no trouble following it. He was just starting to relax, thinking that the metal fiber might have been the only hazard, when he received a sharp mental warning.

Stop!

He froze, and Quedipai bumped into him, but despite the collision, he stood his ground.

“What is it?” Scorpio said aloud.

Something I’ve never encountered. But it’s approaching.

From in front?

Kind of.

What the hell does that mean?

Above! It’s right over your head!

Scorpio looked up. There was nothing but the top of the corridor, composed of the same faintly glowing stone as the walls.

You’re wrong. There’s nothing there.

Here it comes!

And suddenly, an ugly head with huge, razor-sharp fangs and glowing red eyes burst through the ceiling exactly above Scorpio. He pushed Quedipai back, hurled himself against a wall, and fired at the head. It didn’t quite roar and didn’t quite hiss, but made a sound that was halfway between the two. The burner had blown one of its eyes out and melted a fang, but still it came at him, and as he backed away, firing his weapon, it stretched out to four, five, six, seven feet in length.

Finally, Scorpio extended his weapon and arm in the thing’s direction. It opened its mouth to bite or perhaps swallow both, and he pressed the firing mechanism one last time, burning the beast’s brain to a crisp and blowing a hole in the back of its head.

It hung, motionless, from the ceiling, almost touching the floor, while the trio stared at it.

“What the hell is it?” asked Scorpio.

“Even I cannot pronounce the ancients’ name for it,” answered Quedipai. “It is not quite a snake, because it has very small limbs and claws that are still above the ceiling, but I suppose the closest definition is a cave snake, a snakelike thing that lives within the walls of caves.”

This isn’t a cave, noted Merlin.

Same thing, responded Scorpio. Besides, what difference does it make? You want to call it a tomb snake, be my guest.

Do you get the feeling that these kings don’t want to be disturbed?

Scorpio began walking again, and after another hundred yards the corridor broadened out and the walls actually glowed a little brighter. They finally came to a fork in the corridor, and Scorpio paused, wondering which direction to go.

“This is too easy,” he said at last.

“Easy?” repeated Quedipai, surprised.

Scorpio nodded. “Keep alert and you don’t have a problem on the staircase. And I didn’t have to shoot the snake thing; I could have just run ahead. He can’t go through stone as fast as I can run. Whoever designed this had to know that most intruders would get this far.”

He stared at both corridors again and couldn’t make up his mind. Finally, he retraced his steps to where the dead creature still hung down from the ceiling. Reaching into his boot, he withdrew a wicked-looking knife and soon cut the thing’s head off.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Quedipai, staring at the severed, mutilated head with horrified fascination.

“You’ll see,” said Scorpio.

He carried the head back to the fork, took a couple of steps into the left-hand corridor, then rolled the head down it like some nightmare bowling ball.

When it had rolled about forty feet there was an audible click! and the floor opened up. The head plunged down into a deep, seemingly bottomless pit.

Did you see where it stopped and started?

Yes. Let me go first, while I’ve still got it pinpointed.

Be my guest.

Merlin began trotting down the corridor. When he had gone just short of forty feet he reached a forepaw out and gently touched the floor.

Nothing happened.

He moved forward another foot and repeated the procedure, and this time the floor opened just as it had for the snake’s head.

Merlin leaped across the pit with ease.

It’s no more than four feet wide, he signaled back. Deep as hell, and the walls are absolutely smooth, so don’t trip.

Scorpio turned to Quedipai. “Can you jump?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” answered the Martian uneasily.

“How can you not know?” demanded Scorpio. “Either you can jump or you can’t.”

“I can jump. But I am very old. I don’t know if I can jump that far.”

“All right,” said Scorpio. “We’ll do it the hard way.”

“The hard way?” repeated Quedipai.

Scorpio scooped the Martian up in his arms, ran down the corridor, and measured his leap to begin a few inches before the pit began. It didn’t sense him and remained shut until he landed on the far edge. The floor dropped away from him, but his momentum carried him forward. As he released his grip on Quedipai, both of them rolled down the corridor behind the pit.

“That was terrifying!” moaned the Martian.

“These guys knew their stuff,” commented Scorpio. “It’s amazing that it still works after all these thousands of years.”

They walked cautiously, looking for more traps, for another hundred yards. Then the corridor curved to the left and terminated at a massive golden door that had a series of hieroglyphs carved into it.

Quedipai walked up to the first set of hieroglyphs and studied them intently. Finally, he stood back.

“Well?” asked Scorpio.

“This is the Tomb of the Lesser Kings,” he said.

“Lesser Kings?” repeated Scorpio.

“The Krang had seven kings. Six of them are interred in this vault.”

“I assume the important one—the seventh king—is down the other corridor?”

“That seems likely.”

“But it doesn’t expressly say so on the door?”

“No.”

“Well, we’ll worry about it after we examine this tomb,” said Scorpio.

Quedipai was about to push the door open when Scorpio grabbed his hand.

“Don’t!” said the Earthman.

“What’s the matter?” asked Quedipai.

“Let’s assume the guys who designed this place meant business,” replied Scorpio. He pulled his knife out of his boot and tossed it against the door, which immediately began sparking and crackling.

“Electrified?” asked the Martian.

Scorpio nodded. “Yeah. I’m surprised it still has power after all this time.”

“What shall we do?”

“It’s deadly,” replied Scorpio, “but it’s not unique. Merlin and I run into this kind of thing a lot.” He pulled a small, complex device out of one of his many pockets and held it up. “A Nullifier. This little gizmo can negate any charge that’s not strong enough to melt the door.”

He pressed a switch, the device began humming, and he pressed it against the door. There was no repetition of the sound or sparks.

“Okay, let’s see what’s inside,” he said, pushing at the portal, which slowly swung inward, creaking under its own weight.

The chamber was spacious. More, it was luxurious. The walls were gold, and reached some twenty feet high to an arched ceiling. There were a number of ornate cabinets, and spread evenly about the chamber were six exquisitely carved and freestanding mausoleums, each looking like a miniature temple.

Scorpio entered the first mausoleum and saw nothing but a pile of ashes.

All I’m finding are ashes, signaled Merlin.

Me, too, replied Scorpio.

He walked back out and saw Quedipai emerging from another mausoleum.

“What the hell happened here, I wonder?” said the Earthman.

Merlin opened a cabinet with his pointed tail. Empty, he observed.

Quedipai walked to a series of hieroglyphs that had been carved into the wall. “Do you see this?” he said, pointing to an inscription at the very bottom of the hieroglyphs.

“Yes?”

“It was added to the original approximately five thousand years ago, if I have identified my dynasties correctly. It was written by a grave robber who actually reached the tomb, only to find that it had been robbed millennia earlier. He stole what few artifacts remained and left this message for any who followed him.”

“What does the message say?”

“That he looked for the Book of Blaxorak but couldn’t find it. Either it is in the other tomb, or it never existed.”

“As long as he got this far, why didn’t he just go to the other tomb and see for himself?” asked Scorpio.

“He had three companions. Cohorts, I think one could call them. They all died trying to enter the Tomb of Xabo, and he decided to leave while he still lived.”

“Xabo?” repeated Scorpio.

“He was the greatest of the Krang kings,” answered the Martian. “It was said that he was capable of feats that seemed very little removed from magic.” He looked around the tomb. “I am almost glad the thief’s associates were killed. I hope Xabo’s tomb is intact.”

“Let’s find out,” said Scorpio.

They retraced their steps, the Earthman once again jumped across the pit while carrying Quedipai, and finally they came to the fork. This time they set off to the right, down another glowing corridor.

Anything alive up ahead?

Not so far.

The corridor twisted and turned, and suddenly they saw two ancient bodies sprawled on the corridor’s floor about ten yards ahead. They stopped and stared at the scene.

“Do you see anything that looks wrong?” asked Scorpio.

He got negative replies from his two companions.

“Any marks on the bodies?”

No, but they’re both facedown.

Scorpio studied the scene with a practiced eye. “No bloodstains on the floor or walls, so whatever killed them, it didn’t break the skin.” He paused, frowning. “Cutie Pie, didn’t that hieroglyph say that the author lost three cohorts?”

“Yes,” replied the Martian.

“So one of them got through.” He paused as he considered the bodies. “We’ll never know how he made it until we know what killed these two.” He peered more intently at the farther body. “He’s got a weapon in his hand, so I think whatever killed them, it wasn’t something of flesh and blood that he could blow away.”

He scratched his head, frowning. “Nothing living. And it couldn’t be something that electrified the corridor. There are no burn marks, and one of them survived in each direction.”

“Each direction?” repeated Quedipai. “I don’t understand.”

“We haven’t come to a third body yet, so he obviously got through … and the one who wrote the message either stayed on this side of the carnage or found a way to get back through it unharmed.”

Still nothing alive in the area, Merlin informed him.

“Well, once we’ve eliminated all the things that didn’t kill them, we’re left with just two possibilities: sound or gas. And I don’t believe it was sound. These walls would turn the corridor into an echo chamber. Any noise that was strong enough to kill these two would have killed the others. It had to be gas.”

“Why only two, then?” asked Quedipai.

“Air currents,” suggested Scorpio. “Or, more likely, a lack of air currents. If you weren’t standing directly where the gas was released, it didn’t reach you.”

“I don’t see any vents in the walls or ceiling,” said the Martian.

“It didn’t have to happen right there,” replied Scorpio.

“But you just said they had to be standing exactly where it was released,” protested Quedipai.

“They did,” confirmed Scorpio. “But they didn’t have to die instantly. They take a whiff, they scream ‘Run!’ to their partners, and they go two or three or ten steps before they collapse and die.”

“Then how can we tell where it was released?”

“We’ll check for hidden vents between here and the bodies,” answered Scorpio.

After ten minutes, they had to admit that there were no vents.

“You must have been wrong,” said Quedipai at last.

“It happens,” admitted Scorpio with a defeated shrug. “Let’s proceed.”

They had gotten to within five feet of the bodies when Scorpio yelled “Stop!” and both his companions froze.

“What is it?” asked the Martian.

“I’m an idiot,” said Scorpio.

I already knew that.

“Put yourself in their place,” he continued. “You know you’ve been attacked, been poisoned. You don’t know what lies ahead, between here and the tomb, but you know it was safe up until you were gassed.” He smiled triumphantly. “They weren’t running toward Xabo’s tomb. They were running back the way they came.” He took a step past the bodies, studying the ceiling, took another five steps, then he froze, staring at the ceiling.

“Stand back,” he said, pulling out his burner and aiming it at a tiny, almost invisible vent.

It melted and sealed the opening instantly, before any remaining gas could be released. They waited a few minutes, just to make sure no poison had escaped, and began walking toward the tomb again.

Finally, they came to a massive door, the sister of the one leading to the Tomb of the Lesser Kings.

“So where’s the third body?” asked Scorpio, looking around.

“I see nothing,” agreed Quedipai.

“Either the writer can’t count, or his friend made it into Xabo’s tomb.”

“If that is true,” said the Martian, “then they both made it, or the writer would not know that his cohort had died.”

Still no sign of life?

None.

Scorpio pulled out his Nullifier again. “I assume this door’s rigged the same way as the other,” he said. “After all, if you touch one of them, you’re not going to be around to touch the other.”

He activated it, placed it on the door, then pushed it open.

“What the hell?” he muttered, as he found himself facing six mummified warriors standing guard around a mausoleum. It was larger and more impressive than those in the other tomb, made of pure gold, forty feet on a side. A throne, also gold, stood just in front of it.

Scorpio stepped forward and studied the warriors. Each was nine or ten feet high, and their facial features differed markedly from Quedipai’s or any other Martian he had ever seen. Each stood—or had been positioned—at attention, and each held a wicked-looking spear in one hand.

“How many Xabos were there?” asked Scorpio, frowning.

“None of these is Xabo,” answered Quedipai. “They guard Xabo.”

“These guys look like they’re in the prime of life,” observed Scorpio. “Are you saying that they killed and preserved six warriors just to stand them down here and frighten off any superstitious grave robbers?”

“He deserved more,” said the Martian, “but the Krang were not a numerous race. As I told you, they may not even have originated on this world.”

There were four small anterooms attached to the main chamber, each filled with exquisitely carved cabinets. Scorpio walked over to an ornate cabinet and opened it. It was empty.

“Maybe they should have stuffed and mounted twelve warriors,” he said, as Merlin pushed open the door of the mausoleum.

Scorpio—trouble!

What’s the problem?

Come see for yourself.

Scorpio did so, and was soon staring at two bodies that were sprawled on the floor of the mausoleum.

Take a look. He’s a member of Quedipai’s race. He’s been stabbed maybe fifteen times by spears. And the other is dressed from a different era, but he was speared to death too.

Scorpio stood, hands on hips, surveying the carnage with a puzzled frown on his face. Each clutched a sack or bag, and when Scorpio examined them he found them filled with what he assumed were the missing art objects.

I assume one of them is the third member of the gang?

Almost certainly.

“What the hell do you think happened?” he asked aloud.

You don’t want to know my answer, thought Merlin nervously. But I think we should leave, and the sooner the better.

“It was Xabo’s personal guard,” announced Quedipai with certainty. “The guard is here for only two reasons: to safeguard the sacred book and to protect Xabo. Not his possessions, not his funeral gifts, nothing but the book and Xabo himself.”

“I want a closer look at this,” said Scorpio, stepping into the mausoleum.

“It is here!” cried Quedipai excitedly. “It is actually here!”

He raced up to a jewel-encrusted platform that held an ancient scroll.

“That’s what you came to find?” asked Scorpio.

The Martian gently lifted the scroll. “It is the sacred Book of Blaxorak!”

Suddenly, they heard a heavy footstep behind them. Scorpio walked to the door of the mausoleum and looked out—and saw the six warriors slowly coming to life.

Merlin, get over here quick!

Scorpio pulled his burner and fired it in a single motion. A black, smoldering hole appeared in the chest of the closest warrior, but it had no other effect.

We can’t kill them, Scorpio—they’re already dead!

We can’t kill them, but we can sure as hell turn them to ashes!

Scorpio stepped out into the chamber, pulled his smaller burner from where he kept it tucked at the back of his belt, and began firing both weapons, keeping his fingers pressed on the triggers.

The warriors were moving slowly, as if they were using muscles that had not been used in millennia, which was indeed the case. Scorpio kept ducking and dodging their awkward attempts to impale him, keeping the burners trained on the two nearest until they finally burst into flame, then aimed at the next two.

One of the two fallen warriors rolled across the floor and managed to kill the flames. The second he did so, Merlin leaped upon him and literally began tearing him limb from limb. Quedipai clutched the manuscript to his chest and stood motionless just inside the entrance to the mausoleum.

Scorpio saw one of the last two warriors approaching Merlin, who was still battling a fallen warrior. The Earthman quickly trained one of his burners on the warrior’s spearhead, melting it before he could reach the Venusian. As he did so, a flaming warrior staggered against him, sending him rolling across the floor. As it came after him, he fired at its feet, burning them into a misshapen, useless pair of molten blobs.

It was over in less than three minutes. The remains of the six warriors were scattered across the chamber, still smoldering.

Well, now we know why there aren’t more grave robbers in the Crater, thought Merlin.

We were damned lucky. I only had about twenty seconds of power left in my burner. Scorpio got to his feet and put new power packs into his burners. Where’s Cutie Pie?

Believe it or not, he’s just standing there, reading.

“Hey, Cutie Pie,” said Scorpio, getting to his feet. “Let’s get ready to go.”

“No,” said the Martian.

“Why not? You’ve got the book, we’ve killed the bad guys—if they were bad guys—and the rest of the place has been looted. It’s time to head home.”

“This is more important,” insisted Quedipai, staring intently at the manuscript.

“Read it when we get back to the city,” said Scorpio. “I’m sore and I’m tired and I want to lie down.”

“No!” yelled the Martian. “I have found it!”

“I know you found it. Now let’s take it with us.”

“You don’t understand!” said Quedipai excitedly. “I have found the prayer for resurrecting the king!”

“We just met his friends and relations,” said Scorpio. “Let’s let it go at that.”

But Quedipai never looked up from the prayer, and finally he began reading it aloud.

On your toes, came Merlin’s thought. We’re not alone anymore.

And as Scorpion drew his burner and turned to see what the Venusian was referring to, a huge being, some twelve feet in height, resembling Quedipai but clearly not of the same race, clad in a jeweled military outfit, arose from where he had been lying.

Quedipai took one look at him and dropped to his knees. Scorpio and Merlin stood side by side in the mausoleum’s entrance, the Earthman’s burner aimed directly at the newcomer.

“I live again!” announced Xabo in a rich, deep voice, and although it was in a language neither Scorpio nor Merlin had ever heard before, they both understood it. Xabo’s gaze fell on the burner in Scorpio’s hand. “Put that away,” he said. “I will forgive you your transgression this one time only.”

Scorpio stared at the huge king for another few seconds, then holstered his burner.

“Who is this?” asked Xabo, indicating Quedipai, who had fainted dead away and lay sprawled on the floor, still clutching the manuscript.

“The one who brought you back to life,” answered Scorpio.

“There will be a place for him in my kingdom,” announced Xabo. He stretched his massive arms. “It is good to be alive again!” He turned back to Scorpio and Merlin. “And who are you, and this creature?”

“We’re his protectors.”

“Now I am his protector.”

Scorpio shrugged. “He’s all yours—once he pays us what he owes us.” He paused for a moment, studying the massive king. “What are your plans, now that you live again?”

“What they always were,” replied Xabo. “I will reestablish my kingdom and bring back the old ways and the old religion.”

You know what I’m thinking. Are you game?

Go ahead, replied Merlin. I’m with you.

“You’ve been away a long time, Xabo,” began Scorpio. “You may not know it, but no other member of your race has survived, and there’s every likelihood that the current inhabitants of the planet may resent your giving them orders, resurrected king or not.”

“What they want makes no difference,” replied Xabo. “It is my destiny to rule, and I will do so with more justice and wisdom than any king has displayed since I was sealed in this tomb.” Suddenly, he glared at the Earthman and the Venusian. “Or do you propose to stop me?”

“Not at all,” replied Scorpio. “This isn’t our world. We don’t have a problem with you … but a lot of people will. People who know their way around today’s Mars and especially today’s weapons.” He paused again to give that time to register. “Like it or not, you’re going to need some help.”

“Are you offering it?” asked Xabo.

“That’s our business,” replied Scorpio. He stepped aside so that Xabo could see the bodies of his warriors strewn across the floor. “And those are our bona fides.” He pointed to Xabo’s neck. “That’s a very pretty gold necklace you’ve got there.”

Xabo strode out of the mausoleum, stared at the bodies, and seated himself on his golden throne. “Let us talk,” he said.

And while Mars slept, the ancient king, the Earthman, and the Venusian settled down for a long night of hard negotiations.