Old Mars

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.