Old Mars

The bar was long, made of some gleaming alien metal, and different sections raised or lowered as it sensed the size of the various races sidling up to it. On the wall behind the bar was a large holographic representation of whatever world Razzo had come from, and it usually made the assembled drinkers glad that they’d never set foot on it. There were two robotic bartenders, but Razzo spent most of his time behind the bar as well. The common assumption was that he stayed there to make sure the robots didn’t fill the glasses too high.

Right at the moment, Razzo’s was playing host to fifteen Martians, a dozen Venusians, a pair of miners from Titan, two more from Ganymede, and a scattering of Earthmen. The only one who drew any notice was the Scorpion, and that was mostly because of his companion.

The Scorpion’s real name, which hardly anyone ever knew or used, was Marcus Aurelius Scorpio. He was tall, a good six or seven inches over six feet, and lean, and hard. He had a thick shock of brown hair that was just starting to show specks of gray, a week’s worth of stubble on his cheeks and chin, and pale blue eyes, so pale they seemed colorless from certain angles.

He was dressed in nondescript browns and tans, and he made no attempt to hide the burner he carried in a small holster on his hip. Most observers couldn’t tell that he had a smaller one tucked in the back of his belt and a wicked-looking knife in one boot.

There was really nothing about him to attract any attention—except for the creature lying on the floor at his feet. At first, it seemed like a dog, but there weren’t any dogs on Mars, and certainly not any that approached the size of a lion. It had four nostrils—two in front, one on each cheek—eyes that seemed to glow even though they were totally shielded from the dim lights, and a tail that ended in such a sharp point that it could very well be used as a weapon. The animal was covered by a dull blue curly down, and when it yawned, it displayed a double row of coal-black fangs.

All the patrons gave the table—and the creature—a wide berth. The diminutive Mercurian waiter, who was used to him, paid him no attention as he brought Scorpio a drink and continued making his round of the tables.

Scorpio lit one of the local cigars, took a puff, and settled back to watch a Martian woman gyrate in a slow dance that looked awkward to him but was clearly driving the Martian customers wild. The music wasn’t quite atonal but was so alien that he was sure he couldn’t hum it if he heard it around the clock for a week.

Scorpio sipped his drink, trying not to make a face as it burned his throat on the way down, and puffed away on his cigar. After a minute, he pulled something out of his pocket and tossed it to the blue creature, which caught it, chewed it as it made loud, cracking sounds, and finally swallowed it.

The Martian girl’s dance ended, the Martians in the audience cheered and uttered those strange hoots that were unique to their species, and then a girl from Io climbed onto the stage to complete indifference.

The Martian girl was walking to a dressing room behind the bar, but she stopped at Scorpio’s table.

“You are here again, Scorpion,” she said.

“I like to visit my money,” he replied.

“Did you like my dance?”

“It was unique.”

“Perhaps I should perform another, just for you.”

“I’m always open to new experiences,” said Scorpio.

This is silly, said a voice inside Scorpio’s head. Tell her to go away.

Scorpio looked down at the blue creature. Do I interfere in your sex life? he thought.

Damn it, Scorpio! Why are you wasting time? She’s a Martian, for Podak’s sake. She couldn’t accommodate you even if she tried.

Scorpio smiled a very cynical smile. Love will find a way.

“You’re talking to your dog again,” said the girl.

“He’s not a dog, and you haven’t heard me say a word.”

“You lie to me,” she said. “All the time you lie to me.”

“Of course I do,” answered Scorpio. “We’re in Razzo the Slug’s. It might even be against the law to tell the truth here.”

She uttered a Martian obscenity. “Earthman!” she added contemptuously, stalking off.

Happy? asked Scorpio.

Thrilled, came the answer. By the way, someone’s looking for you.

The girl went and got a weapon?

The creature snorted. By the door. The Martian with the bag.

Scorpio looked across the bar at a Martian who had just entered. He was small, stooped over (which was rare in the lighter gravity), showing signs of age, and carrying a cloth bag over what passed for his shoulder.

You’re sure he’s for me? thought Scorpio.