Old Mars

“You don’t seem to understand. The Sheev originally planned war against nearby planets, especially Terra. The bomb was too powerful. It was never meant to be detonated on Mars. Even in space, it had limited useful targets. It was a star bomb, intended to be launched at another planet and turn that world to cosmic dust!”

“And that’s what’s down there somewhere now?” Stone jerked his thumb toward his feet. “Ticking away as we speak. When’s it due to go off?”

“In just under seven hours,” said Krane.

“Great! So you simply made your problem our problem?” Mac didn’t try to disguise his disgust. Fear began to tie his insides together.

“Not deliberately. We only recently learned that Mars was still populated—or repopulated. This wasn’t the first time we’ve tried to contact someone like you or to defuse it. This was the closest we could get to you on this time-line.”

“If you know the future, you know what will happen.”

“This is the farthest we can get in time. We get nothing back if we go farther …”

Mac was silent, thinking that over. He was familiar with Gridley’s theories of radiant time. “So there might not be any future for us?”

The image shimmered as Krane picked up some kind of yellow gossamer scroll on which symbols sparkled. “Our best minds have worked on the problem ever since we knew about it. We have at last determined how to neutralize the n-bomb.”

Mac still didn’t speak. He just wanted to hear Krane’s pitch.

“OK. So where do I come into it?”

“We need you to do the neutralizing.”

“For what?”

“To save your planet. Research says you’re a Martian, even more than I am. You’re a survivor.”

“Except that there are easier ways to live.”

“That’s why you’ll get the sapphires.”

“A bag of indigo flame sapphires?”

“What the lep tried to show you. What Delph heard about.”

Mac grinned. “It’s a sweet incentive. If you’re right, I haven’t a chance of getting out of this alive. I might as well take the lot of you—or them—with me. You’re all as crooked as I am.”

“Except that’s not your style, Stone. You’re a Martian. You were born on Mars. You don’t want Mars to die like that. Not blown to bits.”

“OK. Let’s assume you’re right. How would I get down to this canal and do what I need to do to the bomb?”

“It’s not quite so simple,” said Krane. “The bomb moved, as I told you. After the ’quake it actually floated down the canal. Until it hit white water. Happily the casing is very strong and relatively light. By luck, it eventually caught between some rocks above the falls. Water currents coming in from three sides actually held the thing steady. It’s still there.”

“Rapids? That’s why your robot can’t reach it?”

“One reason.”

“Is it hard to dislodge?”

“That, unfortunately, isn’t a problem. It should dislodge relatively easily.”

“So? Where exactly is it?”

“It’s pretty much on the brink of that chasm,” said Krane. “Where the water of the Ia rushes over the broken canal floor and gushes down into we don’t know what. Into the heart of the planet.”

“On the brink of hell, in other words.”

“Pretty much,” said Krane. “But you’ll have help. Look over to your left. At the noman’s feet.”

Stone saw a large steel-and-slate chest, about a meter square. It had some odd markings stenciled on the side.

“Look inside,” said Krane. So Stone bent and lifted the catches, opening the lid, which eased up on its own. Inside was soft kalebite packing used for delicate scientific instruments. He picked this off carefully. The contents looked unexpectedly sturdy. He reached in both hands and took it out.

“It looks like a big helmet. Like one those old Terran firefighters had.”

Krane said, “It’s a Gollowatt’n battle hat. They once fought the Kolvini through the Martian catacombs and never once saw the light of day.” Quickly, he described the helmet’s intuitive features. “Modified for your use. It’ll let you see in the dark for a start. Heat pictures. And there’s a sensor that tunes to your own eyes so you can use them as supersensitive binoculars. There are extrapowerful lights for when you need to do fine work, such as on the bomb itself. There’s a set of force-tools you can project and use. But it’s a lot more than that. There are a million neurolinks so the helmet works intuitively according to the wearer’s normal responses. We built a detector into it, too, if it survived the journey.”

“Force-tools?”

“They’re modified and mostly intuitive, tuned to your brain so you only have to visualize the problem, not the tool itself. Best make appropriate head movements.”

“OK.” Stone was dubious. “So what’s the magic word?”