Old Mars

Scorpio stepped forward and studied the warriors. Each was nine or ten feet high, and their facial features differed markedly from Quedipai’s or any other Martian he had ever seen. Each stood—or had been positioned—at attention, and each held a wicked-looking spear in one hand.

“How many Xabos were there?” asked Scorpio, frowning.

“None of these is Xabo,” answered Quedipai. “They guard Xabo.”

“These guys look like they’re in the prime of life,” observed Scorpio. “Are you saying that they killed and preserved six warriors just to stand them down here and frighten off any superstitious grave robbers?”

“He deserved more,” said the Martian, “but the Krang were not a numerous race. As I told you, they may not even have originated on this world.”

There were four small anterooms attached to the main chamber, each filled with exquisitely carved cabinets. Scorpio walked over to an ornate cabinet and opened it. It was empty.

“Maybe they should have stuffed and mounted twelve warriors,” he said, as Merlin pushed open the door of the mausoleum.

Scorpio—trouble!

What’s the problem?

Come see for yourself.

Scorpio did so, and was soon staring at two bodies that were sprawled on the floor of the mausoleum.

Take a look. He’s a member of Quedipai’s race. He’s been stabbed maybe fifteen times by spears. And the other is dressed from a different era, but he was speared to death too.

Scorpio stood, hands on hips, surveying the carnage with a puzzled frown on his face. Each clutched a sack or bag, and when Scorpio examined them he found them filled with what he assumed were the missing art objects.

I assume one of them is the third member of the gang?

Almost certainly.

“What the hell do you think happened?” he asked aloud.

You don’t want to know my answer, thought Merlin nervously. But I think we should leave, and the sooner the better.

“It was Xabo’s personal guard,” announced Quedipai with certainty. “The guard is here for only two reasons: to safeguard the sacred book and to protect Xabo. Not his possessions, not his funeral gifts, nothing but the book and Xabo himself.”

“I want a closer look at this,” said Scorpio, stepping into the mausoleum.

“It is here!” cried Quedipai excitedly. “It is actually here!”

He raced up to a jewel-encrusted platform that held an ancient scroll.

“That’s what you came to find?” asked Scorpio.

The Martian gently lifted the scroll. “It is the sacred Book of Blaxorak!”

Suddenly, they heard a heavy footstep behind them. Scorpio walked to the door of the mausoleum and looked out—and saw the six warriors slowly coming to life.

Merlin, get over here quick!

Scorpio pulled his burner and fired it in a single motion. A black, smoldering hole appeared in the chest of the closest warrior, but it had no other effect.

We can’t kill them, Scorpio—they’re already dead!

We can’t kill them, but we can sure as hell turn them to ashes!

Scorpio stepped out into the chamber, pulled his smaller burner from where he kept it tucked at the back of his belt, and began firing both weapons, keeping his fingers pressed on the triggers.

The warriors were moving slowly, as if they were using muscles that had not been used in millennia, which was indeed the case. Scorpio kept ducking and dodging their awkward attempts to impale him, keeping the burners trained on the two nearest until they finally burst into flame, then aimed at the next two.

One of the two fallen warriors rolled across the floor and managed to kill the flames. The second he did so, Merlin leaped upon him and literally began tearing him limb from limb. Quedipai clutched the manuscript to his chest and stood motionless just inside the entrance to the mausoleum.

Scorpio saw one of the last two warriors approaching Merlin, who was still battling a fallen warrior. The Earthman quickly trained one of his burners on the warrior’s spearhead, melting it before he could reach the Venusian. As he did so, a flaming warrior staggered against him, sending him rolling across the floor. As it came after him, he fired at its feet, burning them into a misshapen, useless pair of molten blobs.

It was over in less than three minutes. The remains of the six warriors were scattered across the chamber, still smoldering.

Well, now we know why there aren’t more grave robbers in the Crater, thought Merlin.