George Martin - Old Mars

“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.”