George Martin - Old Mars

They were not the last native Martians. Those were the raïfs . Never wholly visible, they flitted around the Low-Canal settlements—the so-called mourning Martians, whose songs sometimes drifted in from the depths of the dead sea-bottoms and whose pink-veined outlines were almost invisible by noon. They drifted like translucent rays, feeding on light. Their songs could be heartbreaking. Storytellers insisted that they were not a new race at all but the spirits of the last humanoid Martians, forever doomed to haunt the Low-Canal.

Stone had never felt quite so alone. The buildings were thinning out as he walked, and his helmet showed him an increasing number of great natural arches, of stalagmites and stalactites forming a massive stone forest beside the whispering waters of the Ia canal. Some had been carved by ancient artists into representations of long-since-extinct creatures. Every so often, he was startled by a triangular face with eldritch, almost Terran, features. Mac, used to so much strangeness, felt almost in awe of those petrified faces, which stared back at him with sardonic intelligence.

Nothing lived here, not even the savage crocs. Nothing flew or scampered or wriggled over the smooth marble, among the stone trunks of stone trees whose stone boughs bent back to the ground. The only noise came from the rushing water, and even that was muted.

He thought he heard a faint rustle from within the stone forest. He paused, and heard it again. A sound. Nothing more. He couldn’t identify it. But he did know that he probably shouldn’t be hearing that sound. Maybe some remnants of a civilization did still live down here after all?

He moved his jaw, his ears. As Krane had promised, the helmet responded intuitively and amplified some of the outside sounds while filters dampened others. All he heard was the steady flow of the canal waters. Had he imagined something? When it came again, he knew what it was. A biped in shoes was following him. Or keeping pace with him, out there in the endless caves. Louder. There it was. A light, steady footfall in step with his own. When he stopped, it stopped. It came from the seemingly endless stone archways on his right. His laugh was almost demonic. He reached to loosen his Banning in its holster and bent to feel for his knife, still in place. He recalled boyhood tales of fierce monsters down here, of horribly disfigured mutants who lived off human flesh. Until now, he’d believed none of them.

Another step. Stone blinked to turn off the helmet’s lights. He crept as silently as he could into the nearest stone arch. The faintest scuttling sound came next. Carefully, he drew his blaster, dialing a swift instruction with his thumb. When he leveled the gun, it shot out a group of tiny light bursts, like so many brief, brilliant stars slowly arcing through that natural crypt, throwing a shadow against the curving stone pillars. A human. He was being followed. Somebody sent by Krane? Unlikely. The lep? Certainly not that noman. One of Varnal’s ancient enemies? He now had a charge and three-quarters left in his Banning. Logically, there was only likely to be one other person in the catacombs—whoever had chased him down here in the first place. They would be very well armed!

He snarled into the blackness. “Listen, I don’t know what you expect to get from me. If it’s sapphires, not only do I not have them, I don’t know where they are. And if you have any idea that I’m lying, I ought also to tell you that I’m on a mission. If I’m stopped, Mars will be blown to bits, and you with her. Now, I don’t much care for what they’ve done to Mars, but I was born on this planet, and I’d like to spend a few more years here. So whatever you’re after, Mister, maybe you should back off. Or show yourself. Or just come into the open and fight. I’ll take whatever option you like.”

No answer came out of that cold blackness, just the echo of the water whispering on its way to oblivion.

Keep moving.

Crunch!

A stunshell went off where he had been moments earlier. Only an amateur would have missed him. A suspicion became a thought in Stone’s mind.

It had to be the same hunter who had been trailing him since RamRam City. He should know who it was by now. If it was a bluff, he’d been bluffed by a pro. Yes, there was no doubt. Someone was playing a game, maybe searching for his weaknesses.

With that, Stone snapped the helmet lights back on. There it was! A human shape fluttering among the stalagmites. He switched the light off, listening. Then, very quietly, he left the wide path. He passed among those great natural arches, seeking whoever hunted him. By the way they darted through the darkness, he couldn’t help wondering how long they had lived on Mars. He recognized that same characteristic movement. A habit of approaching everywhere from the side or from behind. A habit of caution. The anticipation of attack. So this wasn’t some Terran bounty hunter after his hide. This was a Martian.

Stone knew all the Martians likely to be offered the job and this wasn’t their style, no matter how high a reward he had on his head. Except—

Again, he brought his lights into play, and this time he got more than a glimpse. A red-and-black night suit. Carrying extra air. Two Banning 22-40s. Every bounty hunter had a signature.

Could it be Yily Chen? Or someone working with Chen?

Crunch!

Now he knew that they didn’t really want him dead. It had to be Chen. They had just been pretending up there before the croc got him. They had wanted him to think he was as good as dead. Or maybe they’d wanted to get him down here where they could take their time with him?

“If that’s you, Yily, why are you after me? You’re on Terra. I’m on Mars. We were never at odds.”

Her voice hadn’t changed as much as he’d expected. A sweet, light, lilting brogue came back out of the darkness. “Maybe the price was never high enough, Mac.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“OK. Then you tell me why somebody wants you alive and doesn’t want me to talk it over with you.”

“You wouldn’t torture me. I know it. Not me.”

“Maybe. Circumstances change, Mac. Times change.”

“Very true. But you don’t. I don’t. We’re Martians. You’re more Martian than I am. You don’t have anyone they can get at you through. Same with me. We have identical reasons for keeping free of ties.”

“We’re different, Mac. Fundamentally. I’m a hunter. You’re a thief. Sometimes hunters are commissioned to find thieves.”

“So who gave you the job? Who wants you to bring me in?”

“Can’t you guess?”

“Delph. And he has most of the money in the universe. But not enough to pay for me.”

“Maybe so much money that I got curious. I wanted to know what he wanted that is worth such a lot. A bag I’m not supposed to look in. And which you don’t have. I know you don’t or you’d have used it as a decoy by now. I’ve hunted you for nearly a week, Mac. I’ve almost killed you half a dozen times. I’ve given you a chance to try all the angles. And you’ve tried them.”

“What? You were testing me?”

“I guess.”

She stepped out into the open, into the beam of light, a quick, boyish figure. Not at all what he’d imagined. She held her helmet in her left hand, one of her guns loose in the other. Her brown curly hair framed an impossibly beautiful triangular face with heavily slanted golden eyes. Her brows were thin and sloping, her lips red and bright as fresh blood. Few of those she hunted ever saw that face. Her clients rarely saw Yily Chen at all. She just delivered her “commissions,” like packages. She’d been his sister. He’d played with her every day as a young child. For all he remembered her as smart and pretty, Mac could hardly believe how truly beautiful she had become.