Old Mars

“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?”